


Still Your Song

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Boys Kissing, Break Up, Closeted Character, Complicated Relationships, Difficult Decisions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Nightmares, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secret Relationship, Sexuality Crisis, Snogging, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 02:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 72,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10957758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: Nicky is perfectly happy with his lot as a police officer, having joined the Guard after football and his audition for a boyband never amounted to anything.  But a second brush with fame edges him back into the world he missed out on, when he finds himself protecting a member of Westlife after a situation at an airport gets suddenly out of control.Mark doesn't know how he feels about Nicky.  All he knows is that his own secrets could bring the careers of all his friends down around his knees, and that the nightmares are getting worse, that Nicky calms them, and makes him laugh, and looks at him in a way that makes him forget what he's supposed to be





	1. Chapter 1

Mark sat in silence, staring out the window.

There wasn't really much to say. Or any point saying it. It was a zoo out there, faces pressed against the car, fingers and cheeks leaving prints all over the glass. A wall, a heaving mess of hysteria. Beside him, Shane laughed.

“Bloody hell,” he said. “We're only going to the airport. We're not dying.”

Mark hummed his agreement. The car started to judder forward. One of the girls streaked back past the window with a damp, clinging squeal. Kian laughed from the front seat.

“We might be dying, if they get their hands on us.” He stretched, looking unruffled by the whole thing. Though at this stage it was all to be expected. Mark hadn't ever expected to expect this. He'd expected crowds, and maybe some mental fanmail, but as they cleared the hotel drive and broke free of some of the mass, two fists thudded into Bryan's door. When Mark turned to look, a girl was shrieking, looked almost broken with excitement.

“At least we're going home,” Bryan pointed out. “Can't wait to sleep in my own bed.” He yawned. Mark nodded. Asia was always mental, but now the tour was finally drawing to a close. A couple more shows in the UK and Ireland, and then a few months off to wind down before they started recording the next album. Enough time, hopefully, to take a deep breath. To have a chance to think.

He didn't know if he wanted to think, particularly. Had been avoiding it for too long.

Still...

“You okay?” Shane asked. “You're really quiet.”

“Just tired.” He forced a smile. It was easy, by now. Smile for the camera. “Like Bryan said. Go home. Sleep in my own bed.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Shane patted his shoulder, though it was a bit awkward with the three of them squashed in the back seat. It was always a bit squashed. Mark supposed he should have been grateful. Back when they'd been auditioning Louis had wanted five of them, though they hadn't found anyone worth keeping. He couldn't imagine how annoying that would be, especially trying to get them all into a taxi after a night out.

“Going home, lads!” Kian cheered. Mark's forced smile became a little more real, just for a second.

“Going home,” he agreed.

 

*

 

“Coffee tastes like shit.”

“You've said that twice,” Georgina pointed out. Nicky shrugged.

“Doesn't make it any less true.” Their walkies crackled to life. Georgina sighed and unhooked hers from her belt while Nicky took another sip of the dreadful airport coffee. A few seconds later she tucked her radio back into its spot, slung low on the hip of her garda uniform.

“Flight's been delayed. Still half an hour away.” She glanced at Nicky's coffee. “How bad is it? Do I want to get one?”

“You can finish this one.” He handed it over. “Sloppy seconds, there you go.”

“Oh, cheers.” She pulled a face. Took a sip. Pulled a worse face. “God, you weren't kidding.” She coughed slightly. “Is this people's first taste of Ireland, then? Get off a flight from wherever, and here's a terrible coffee. Welcome to Dublin.”

“Well, that and the giant poster of our favourite boyband.”

“That too.” Her eyes flicked to it. Massive, hung over the escalator on the way out to baggage claim. Welcome to Ireland, home of Westlife. “Dublin: Terrible coffee and a boyband. Here's a shamrock, enjoy your stay.”

“Mm,” Nicky agreed absently. “Well, those lasses seem to be impressed.” He nodded his head towards them. They'd been milling for a couple of hours. The first few had tried to look casual, hanging around near arrivals and reading magazines. The numbers had grown quickly. Now they were an excited mass, wandering around and bumping into each other like chickens in a coop. Every now and then there'd be a squeal.

“Flight's been delayed,” one said breathlessly. There was a disappointed moan from the crowd. Georgina snorted into Nicky's coffee.

“Did I ever tell you I could have been in Westlife?”

“Only about a thousand times,” Georgina laughed. “I drove you to the audition, remember?”

“I could have been, though.” It was a long-running joke. Westlife or the Guard. He'd gone to the audition, gotten a call-back, and then flubbed the second round. Started Father and Son in the wrong key and bogged it up. He'd asked for another go, but he'd been too rattled by then to do well. He hadn't been called back again.

People still liked to play Father and Son when they wanted to give him stick. It was his absolute favourite thing, that. Hilarious.

“Well, you're not.” She shrugged. “You're waiting for their plane to land so that lot...” she gestured at the growing sea of girls. A couple of other guard were over the other side, keeping an eye out. Bollards had already been set up around the gate. “...can throw themselves at the lads who did get in.”

“Be exciting though.”

“What, hysterical mentals stampeding you all the time?”

“No, like... the concerts and being on the telly and everything.”

“And the money.”

“That too,” Nicky chuckled. Not that he minded being a garda, but the wages weren't amazing. He'd help his dad out with the karaoke sometimes, for a bit of spending money.

He'd never really expected to get into the band, if he was honest with himself. It had been a bit of a laugh. Georgina had heard about the auditions, said he should pop along considering he was always singing Take That songs around the place and had a decent voice for it, so she'd dropped him off. He'd been excited when he'd gotten the callback, but nothing had come of it, and he'd started training at the Garda college a couple of weeks after.

It had been fun. She'd been in his class. His girlfriend, at the time. A few months later, when he'd tearfully admitted that he thought he might be gay, she'd hugged him and said she'd suspected. She'd been upset, of course, but they'd remained friends since. His best friend. Partner, though maybe not in the way they'd intended when they'd been sixteen and necking behind the sheds at school.

“You can have this back.”

“No backsies.” Nicky winked, crossing his arms as she held the cup out. “Finders keepers.”

“It's going in the bin.”

“Toss it, then.” Before she had the chance, their radios were crackling again. Nicky grabbed his first, hit the receive button. She tilted her head, questioning. “Change of plans,” he announced. “Plane's landing in ten.” He threw an appraising glance at the excited girls. “Suppose we'd better start sorting that lot out.”

“Supposed we'd better,” she sighed. The guards on the other side were headed over as well. “Alright then.” She tossed Nicky's crap coffee in the bin beside her. “Watch out for nails and teeth.”

Nicky smirked, beginning to head over to the excited crowd.

 

*

 

“Heads down,” Paul was saying. Mark didn't have to be told twice. He'd thought Jakarta was bad, and it really was, but usually Ireland was much more chilled than this. Today it was mad. They could see the girls from the plane, penned in around the windows and shrieking, though it was silent through the glass. Some of them were holding signs. He could see a few Garda, trying to keep the peace, but the fans were going hysterical.

“Jesus, we were only gone a couple of months,” Bryan commented. They could hear the screaming now, as they made their way up the tunnel to arrivals. All the other passengers had gotten off first, so they wouldn't get caught in the crossfire.

Mark hefted his bag. Beside him, Kian was pulling his cap down over his face, like it was going to protect him somehow.

“Right, police are holding the line,” Paul announced. He'd been on the phone since they'd landed, making sure everything was okay. “Quick dash through. Lads?” The other security were already falling into step on either side of them, two of them darting ahead to the doors.

“Here we go,” Shane mumbled.

The roar was enormous. Security shot through, keeping their path open. One of them was pressed against Mark's side, smelled of sweat and aftershave, large and not that comforting. They passed the doors. A hand groped at his side, then another. Kian was shrinking in, pulling his cap down further. Bryan was laughing.

“Bryan! Bryaaaaaaaaaaaan!”

“ _Shaaaaaaaane!”_

“Keep moving,” Paul ordered. Mark didn't think he could stop. Five years in and this was still his least favourite part, claustrophobic and a little panicky, too many people hemming him in. Screaming his name. It was okay on stage, but this, down in the pit with groping hands and the press of people, still made him break out in sweat.

“Jesus,” he heard the security lad next to him mutter. They were losing control already. The police, the security. A hand grabbed at his ankle, and he was too worried to wonder if she was okay, down on the floor like that. Someone had managed to grab Bryan's scarf. It was gone in an instant. Kian's hat was snatched by an eager hand. Shane reeled into him, swearing.

“You okay?” Mark asked. Shane just grabbed his wrist, yanking him along. Then he was pulled away, and Mark blinked as the crowd pressed closer, the security lad beside him turning to fight off a girl who had clung to his arm and refused to let go.

“Kian?” He couldn't see him. Couldn't see any of them. Paul was shouting. A police officer nearby told someone else to back off. His heart was in his throat. Someone knocked him from behind, and he was down, curled into a ball instinctively while hands grabbed at him, clutching at his clothes, clawing at his face.

He wanted to cry.

There wasn't enough air to get a breath in.

 

*

 

It was fucking bedlam.

The roar when the gate pushed open was unlike anything Nicky had ever heard. He'd thought he had an accurate measure of the crowd, but suddenly it seemed twice as big, all of them pushing towards the door at once. There was a shriek that sounded almost like four names being screamed over each other.

Then the stampede started.

He could see security. Eight big lads, pressing around four hunched over boys, most with caps over their faces. It wasn't enough, he could see it already. Not for this. Two of the bollards fell and girls flooded through the breach, gaining speed. One of them jumped on security's back. One of the lads grabbed one of the others, then was yanked away. Pushed along, towards the exit. As fast as they could go.

One looked panicked. The tall, dark one. Mark. Pale and frightened. Girls were clawing at him. A girl jumped on the minder closest to him, clinging to his arm and trying to get around.

It was as he turned to push her off that Mark slipped free.

For a moment Nicky was reminded of a nature documentary. Hyenas, splitting off a baby antelope from the herd. Penning them in and forcing it out, getting it on it's own so it could be taken down easily, cut off from it's protection.

Wide eyes. Prey.

Nicky was already running.

The lad fell. Was pushed, rather. Nicky kept moving. Baton drawn, using it to shove through the crowd, wanting not to hurt anyone but trying to clear space. The crowd closed around him. One of the security lads was shouting. They'd realised they'd lost one. There was nothing they could do about it, trapped on the other side of the scrum. They were trying to get the other three out and safe, though the other tall one was shouting and trying to run back in, fists up.

Nicky found him. Curled on the carpet, head tucked down. He yanked a girl off him, dragged another one away. There was a clump of hair in her hand. Got his arm around a pale wrist, felt it try to pull reflexively away.

“Get up!” Nicky shouted. Blue eyes looked up, and Nicky dragged him to his feet, pushed him forward, stick in front to hold people back. Georgina was beside him, another one of the officers as well, pushing the crowd back.

“Nicky...”

“Tell them to keep going,” Nicky ordered. “I'll get him to a car.” She nodded, and forced through the crowd. Nicky turned right instead, pushing Mark along, who went, unresisting. A moment later they were shoving out a side exit and into the night, a heavy rain already soaking them. Nicky looked around, trying to get his bearings, and then nodded, beginning to run as hammering started on the fire-escape door behind them, towing Mark along.

His car wasn't too far away. He yanked the door open. Mark was already climbing in. Nicky shot into the front seat, and within a moment they were peeling away from the curb, the smell of rain and burning rubber filling the night.

 

*

 

“You okay?”

Mark looked up. He wasn't sure exactly how it had happened, but he was soaked to the bone, sat in the back of a police cruiser. Concerned eyes darted up, through the metal grate separating him from the front of the car.

He swallowed. Touched his face. He was bleeding, a little. From just above his right eye. Though it wasn't too bad, just a dab of red when he pulled his fingers away to look at them.

He was shaking. Couldn't stop.

“I... I don't know,” he admitted. The officer nodded. “Cold.”

“You're probably in shock,” the officer said. Mark nodded. That sounded about right. A sob welled up in his throat and got stuck there, a hard lump. He ran his hand through his wet hair. There was a bit missing. A little bald patch at the back of his neck. It hurt. There was blood there too.

“I don't...” His voice cracked. “Oh fuck.”

“It's okay,” the officer promised. “Take deep breaths.” Mark did, sucking in so hard it made him feel lightheaded. The radio crackled, making him jump. He couldn't make out all the words through the static, but the officer reached for the radio, unclipped it and said yeah, he had Mark. That he'd take him to the hospital to get checked out, if they could call ahead and get someone to meet them.

“Hospital?” he managed, once the radio was put back in it's cradle.

“Just to be safe.” Blue eyes darted up again. “You're Mark, right?”

“Yeah. Mark is... is me.” He stared out the window. Pissing down. Headlights kept catching raindrops, a kaleidoscope of golden droplets. He covered his eyes, feeling overwhelmed. “Oh god... uh...” The sob heaved out of his throat. “Uh...”

“What's your mam's name?”

“What?” Mark blinked, looked up. “Er... er... Marie.”

“Yeah? She nice?”

“Yes. I mean... she's my mam.”

“What did she get you for Christmas last year?”

“I... I don't...” He gulped. This made no sense. “She... I got biscuits. She made me my favourite biscuits, seeing as I'm always away. To take with me.”

“What did you get her?”

“Erm... I paid off her car. Got her some earrings as well.”

“What kind of car?”

“A Toyota.”

“That's not fancy. Thought all you popstars were supposed to have fancy cars.”

“She wouldn't let me. Said her car was good enough, so I paid off the loan instead.”

“What kind of car do you have, then?”

“A... a Range Rover.”

“Oh, nice.” The car was starting to slow. Mark looked out, realised they were starting to edge up around the hospital, looping through the parking lot to emergency. His heart had started to slow too. He could think, a little. The officer was watching him carefully. Mark realised he'd been distracted, pulled out of his panic. The lump in his throat was still there, but he could get a breath in around it. The car stopped.

The next few minutes were a blur. He was gotten inside, taken straight to a private room to get checked out. There was a TV on as he passed, and he heard _-ightening scene involving boyband Westl-_ before the door closed behind him. The bed was hard. A doctor asked him to look into a little flashlight. He almost laughed in response.

“Where'd the police go?” he found himself asking numbly. Fingers were checking his pulse. “I erm...”

“Slight concussion,” the doctor was saying, but not to him. “Pulse is regular. Can I get...”

“Don't feel well,” Mark murmured. Then he threw up. Someone held a basin in front of him. It didn't really help. Someone touched his shoulder.

“It's okay,” the officer said. “Bit scary?” Mark nodded. That didn't even begin to cover it. He flinched as stinging cold touched to the cut on his forehead. He could smell antiseptic. “I'd be pretty scared too, I reckon.” Blonde hair, cut short and neat. Kind blue eyes. Mark wanted to be sick again. The doctor asked if they could have the room. The officer got up to leave.

Mark didn't remember grabbing his hand, but grabbed it was. Fingers curled into his.

“Mind if I stay?” The officer said. “Think we're attached.” Mark felt himself blush. Couldn't find the energy to care.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I'll let go.”

He didn't.

Fingers squeezed his.

“I'll stay if you want.”

“Thanks,” he managed. “Thanks, officer.”

“Call me Nicky,” Nicky said. Mark nodded, and did as he was told.

 


	2. Chapter 2

When Mark woke up there were three very worried boys sat beside him, perched over the bed like confused storks. He laughed, first of all, unable to help it. Wide eyes and gnawed lips all round. Shane was holding his cap over his chest.

“Morning,” he croaked. His mouth was dry. Kian and Bryan were already arguing over who was in charge of getting him a glass of water.

“How you feeling?”  
  
“Sore.” He coughed slightly. Kian thrust a paper cup triumphantly into his hand. He sipped. It was cool and refreshing, the best water he'd ever tasted. “When is it?”

“I don't know how to tell you this...” Bryan was looking sombre, suddenly. He touched Mark's arm. “Marky it's... it's March. You've been asleep for...”

“I've been out for six _months_?” Mark gasped, horrified. “But...” Bryan's eyes crinkled, and then he started to laugh. Mark growled. Shane poked him, looking annoyed, though he and Kian were trying not to laugh too. “Oh, fuck off. I'm in the hospital. You're supposed to be nice to me.”

“You're leaving in a couple of hours,” Bryan pointed out. “It was just for the night. They were waiting for you to wake up. It's ten in the morning.” He stretched. “Quite nice, actually. We were supposed to be on breakfast radio today, and instead we got to sleep in. Thanks for that. We'll throw you to the fans more often.”

“Thanks, Bry.” He rolled his eyes. It was coming back, now. The press, the crush, falling to his knees and being sure, for a moment, that he was going to die, that he was going to suffocate, there on the carpet, ears full of shrieks.

He swallowed back the well of panic he didn't realise had risen in his chest. His heart was beating too fast.

“You okay?” Shane said. Mark nodded, swallowing again.

“I'm okay.” He touched his forehead. There was a sticking plaster there. “All in one piece.”

“Except for the bald spot.”

“Except for that.” He sighed. “Well, guess I'm shaving my head again.”

“Don't bring back the mohawk, at least,” Kian laughed. “That was dreadful.” He smiled. “Good to have you back, mate. We were worried.”

“Thanks.” He glanced towards the door. It was closed, but he could see the silhouette of a security guard through the frosted window beside it. “Erm... there was a gardai here. Did...”

“Was just you when we got here.” Bryan shrugged. “He the one who got you out?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to...” See him again. Feel strong fingers folded into his grip, sure and not letting him go for a second. Pushing off the weight on top of him and guiding him out. “Just wanted to thank him, I guess.”

“Well, I'm sure someone knows who he is,” Shane pointed out. “I'll get Paul to ask for you, yeah? Maybe we can send him flowers.”

“Nicky,” Mark said. “His name was Nicky.”

“We'll ask around,” Kian promised. “Get some more sleep, if you want. You look like shit.” He laughed when Mark pulled an offended face. “In the nicest possible way, of course.”

He was tired. Felt like he could sleep for a year. He slid down in bed, tucking his cheek into his hand, and a few minutes later was dozing, drifting out to the hum of soft conversation.

 

*

 

Nicky wasn't entirely sure if this was a good or bad sort of meeting. The Inspector was in, and he was never in, not unless someone was seriously in trouble or getting a commendation. He was stood behind the Sergeant, a grim look on his face. The Sergeant folded his hands on his desk, looking at the four of them.

It was fairly neutral, in the end. Standard dressing down for letting things get out of control, though Nicky knew none of them believed it had really been their fault. They'd been assigned four bodies for what had turned out to be a much bigger job. They usually only needed four bodies, for things like this.

They told them good work for getting that lad out. Nicky nodded silently. He'd gotten checked out at the hospital once Mark had been given the clear and a handful of drugs to make him sleep, and Nicky had been mostly fine except for a few scratches and a pearler of a bruise on his shin. He didn't remember how he'd gotten it. Didn't remember much, through the shrieking and clawing and adrenaline.

He did remember Mark, clinging to his hand, eyes wide and panicked in a pale face.

Sweet lad, actually. Nicky hadn't known what he'd expected. Didn't think he'd expected some celebrity diva or anything, but the guy had just looked a bit muddled, had seemed nice enough. Surprisingly normal, if that was something that could ever be said about the whole situation. Some poor kid who had had a frightening experience. Nicky's training had kicked in, as it had done a hundred times before. Ask questions, distract him, keep him calm. It didn't matter if you talking to a popstar or some lass who'd gotten in a fight with her shithead boyfriend, asking about their mam was generally a good start.

They were let go after a few minutes. It was just procedure, the standard debriefing, apparently. It was all over the news, now, which probably explained the Inspector coming down for it. Their names hadn't been mentioned, just that there had been a stampede at the airport and one of the Westlife lads had gotten checked out after he'd fallen.

They were downplaying it. Nicky understood. It wouldn't look good for anyone if they said the police and security team had almost let a quarter of Ireland's national treasure turn to paste on the carpet.

“You okay?”

“Hmm?” He looked up. He'd made it to his desk, at some point. Georgina was leaned against it, looking worried. He forced a smile. “Sorry. Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About...”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Dunno. It was just... it was mental. I think I'm still processing it.”

“Do you want to talk to the staff psychiatrist, maybe?”

“No. I mean... I'm fine.” He was, more or less. Was sure he was. “Tired.” He hadn't slept properly in almost twenty-four hours, had spent half the night at the hospital, managed to get home long enough to have a shower and a two hour nap, and then headed in for his next shift at ten in the morning.

“If you want to head home, I can probably do patrol on my own,” she suggested. “You look wrecked.”

“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes. “Seriously. Go home if you want.”

“I'll be right with some caffeine.” He didn't think he could sleep even if he tried. Was still too wired. Georgina was looking concerned. “Come on, then. Just another day at work.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Let's find a decent coffee. That airport swill nearly killed me.”

She nodded, though she didn't look pleased about it. Nicky didn't really care.

“Alright then.” She held out an elbow. He took it. “Let's get on, then. You can tell me all about what it's like being a hero.”

“Hero?” Nicky shook his head. “Don't think so.”

“Well, what it's like meeting a bit of a boyband.” She winked. “Come on. Gotta have something to gossip with my sister about, don't I?”

“I guess so,” he chuckled. “Go on then. Coffee's on me.”

 

*

 

“Mam, I promise I'm...” Mark sighed, pushing in through the front door. The car on the curb started up, now that he was safely home, and he threw a wave over his shoulder to the driver, got a quick honk back. “I really am fine. It was just a bit scary.”

She'd seen it on the telly. Of course she had. They were already starting to spin it as big news, were showing footage. He'd seen it that morning. Seen himself fall, a blue blur forcing through the crowd after him. Bryan, shouting and threatening to fight all the girls at once. The others kept laughing at that one.

Mark had just stared, not sure how to feel about any of it.

He was sure he'd be asked about it in the next interview. And the next, and the next. It was probably already in whatever boring press files always got checked before they went out to answer the same stupid questions. Are you breaking up? Shane, when are you and Gillian getting married? Bryan, how's the family? Mark, what was it like almost being squished to death by your own fans?

He didn't know how it was. Not really. Felt numb, as he crossed the living room and sank onto the sofa.

“I really am fine,” he said again. His mother clicked her tongue, told him she was glad he was okay. He said it was being blown out of proportion. She said she loved him. He said it back.

He hung up the phone, leaned forward on his elbows, looking at his own feet. They looked too far away. Too big and too small at the same time. He blinked, trying to get them to come into focus. Blinked again.

It wasn't until ten minutes later he realised he was crying, tears rolling silently down his cheeks.

 

*

 

Nicky stopped in the doorway to the office. He'd been running a little late, had slept through most of the day and had woken that afternoon still feeling groggy. Night shifts for the rest of week, six until two in the morning. Not his favourite, but better than the two to ten early morning runs.

Nobody else appeared to be at their own desks. Instead they were all clustered around his, laughing and talking.

“Lads, if you're messing with my computer again...” he sighed. A few people turned around, stepping back as he moved closer. Georgina was smirking.

“You got a delivery.”

“What do you...” The crowd parted. He stared. “Oh.”

It was a basket, if you could call it that. It took up half his bloody desk, was full to the brim. There were flowers in it, but they were just filler for the other stuff, apparently. There was wine in there. Expensive wine. He didn't know where to start.

“Is that caviar?”

“I don't...” He reached in. It was caviar. Bloody hell. A ripple of disbelief went through the other lads assembled. “Fucking hell.”

“What's in the envelope?”

“Er...” Nicky put the tin down, grudgingly, reached for the envelope. When he tore it open there was a card inside. Two tickets fell out. VIP seats and backstage passes for the Dublin show. Nicky stared. “With compliments, apparently.” He showed Georgina the tickets. “Want to see a Westlife concert?”

“Won't say no to free tickets.” She shook her head. “Jesus.” She glanced around. “What are you lot all staring at? Surely you've got work to do?”

They all wandered off, grumbling. Her hand fell to his shoulder.

“It's really nice,” she said softly. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She'd asked him that a lot the last week, since it had happened. “I am. I just didn't expect...” he swallowed, looking at the card again. It wasn't even signed by Mark, just compliments of Sony Music. He wondered if Mark had even had anything to do with it, or if it was just a token from the record company. Some pre-made gift they tossed out whenever they needed, put together by a secretary.

He sat down heavily in his chair, looking up at the giant basket. There were other things in there, wrapped parcels and all sorts. He didn't know where to start with investigating them. Georgina plucked a sprig of baby's breath off the side and tucked it behind his ear.

“It's very you.”

“Thanks.” He left it. It was a bit scratchy, but whatever. “Concert's on Sunday night. You working?”

“No.” She smiled. “You want to go?”

“I kind of do, yeah.” He swallowed. “It's too much, G. What do I even do with it?”

“Well, I'd keep the good stuff,” she chuckled. Nicky nodded. “There were two other lads there that day,” she reminded him. “Might be worth spreading it around.”

“True.” She was right. He smiled. “Thanks. What would I do without you?”

“Not a clue. Utter disaster, you are.” She grinned, pushing away from the desk. “Better get back to it. Got some paperwork to sort, and then we're on patrol.” Nicky nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the basket. “Bit exciting, all this,” she commented. “Enjoy it now. You'll be back to being nobody in a week or so.”

She sauntered off. Nicky bit his lip, then reached in, pulling out the caviar again.

He didn't even think he liked caviar.

He stood up and peered in, figuring he'd better investigate the rest of the basket.

 

*

 

“You good?”

“Yeah, course.” Mark was sick of people asking. He was fine. It had been a week ago. He was more or less unscathed. They'd given him a new haircut to hide the clump missing at the back, and all the clothes he'd been wearing at the time had been thrown in the rubbish, because he couldn't bear looking at them without getting cold sweats...

He was fine.

“You look a bit pale,” Bryan said. It was just the two of them, chilling in his hotel room. Still half an hour until the car arrived. Shane and Kian were... somewhere.

“I'm always pale.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really, no.” He sighed. “I just kind of want everyone else to _stop_ talking about it. Like, it's over, and nobody wants to let me forget about it. I'm just...” He trailed off, realised Bryan was looking at him with concern, that he'd been raising his voice slightly. “I'm okay, Bry. Really.”

“You know you're going to be talking about it for the next ten years, right?”

“I know.” He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. “Every bloody interview.”

“We could put it in the interview briefs not to ask. Talk to Louis about it.”

“Yeah, but then people will wonder why...” He shook his head. “I don't know. I don't want to think about it.” He opened his eyes again and stared up at the ceiling, blank and a bit yellowing. “Why do people always want to know everything about me? I'm not that interesting.”

“Well, I know that,” Bryan laughed. Mark smirked, shaking his head. “You could do something else, distract from it. Got any deep dark secrets?” He nudged Mark slightly, winking, and Mark laughed, though the lump was back in his throat.

“No.” It was a lie. They probably both knew it was a lie. He suspected Bryan had guessed, or at least had an inkling. It didn't matter. Mark wasn't going to tell him. Wasn't going to tell anyone. He hadn't even really told himself.

It was easier if he didn't tell himself.

“I'll leave it, then.” Mark nodded, grateful. “But if you do want to talk. About anything...”

“I know. Thanks, Bry.” The door creaked open, and he smiled as Shane's head poked in, Kian's squashed beside it. Bryan waved.

“Hey, car's pulling up” Shane said. “You ready?”

“We're good.” Bryan stood. “Just having a chat.” He stretched, then pulled the door open, beginning to sidle past the two of them. “Let's do this, yeah? Come on.”

Mark stood as well, running his hand through hair that felt too short. Kian was looking concerned already.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Mark sighed. “I'm fine.”

 

*

 

The streets around Lansdowne Road were packed. They strolled past, watching police wave cars through the barricades. Nicky had done duty on this himself, at a couple of concerts for other bands, and it was always manic. Pissed off people who'd not thought to leave early wondering why they were suddenly gridlocked with the thirty thousand other people who'd gotten tickets to the same gig.

A car beside them honked angrily, as though it was the car in front's fault.

“Heard it was sold out,” Georgina commented. Nicky nodded.

“I heard that too.” He stretched slightly. They'd gotten the train, which had been packed as well but at least on time. “How much time we have?”

“Still an hour until they go on.” She waved as they drew level with a couple of uniforms. They waved distractedly back before being lost in the crowd of pedestrians Nicky was trying to keep pace with. “We're VIP anyway. Heard standing room's been queueing since six this morning.”

“Jesus.” Nicky whistled. “That's mad. I don't think I've ever queued fourteen hours for anything.”

“We did nine hours for Kylie Minogue tickets once.”

“That's right,” he laughed. “Probably should have tipped you off, that one.”

“I thought you just fancied her. Didn't realise you were more into Jason Donovan.” Nicky shoved her gently. “Speaking of, how did things go with whatsisname? You haven't mentioned him since."

“I haven't mentioned him since,” Nicky agreed. Georgina nodded, rolling her eyes. “He was fine. There was just no...” He gestured slightly. “Thing.”

“Spark?”

“Not even a bit of static.” Nicky shrugged. “We had dinner, we left separately. Nothing much.” He nudged her. “How about you? Did you end up going for drinks with Nathan in dispatch?” She shook her head.

“I was too busy. Then by the time I had time he'd asked someone else. They're dating, now.”

“Busy doing what?”

“I don't know. Just busy.” She hmphed. Nicky nodded in understanding. “Maybe I should just cave and say yes to Rick. He's been asking for months.”

“If you wanted to go out with Rick, you already would have,” Nicky pointed out. “Don't tell me you're that desperate. Like, he's nice, but...”

“Not my type,” Georgina finished. “Believe me, I know.” She tossed an arm around his shoulders. “Sure you don't want to switch teams again? I could buy a strap-on and cut my hair?”

“Tempting.” His arm found her waist. She was a bit taller than him in her heels, but he pressed a kiss to her cheek anyway. She laughed and squeezed him. He squeezed back.

“Not bad for a date, though,” he pointed out. “VIP tickets to a band and all.”

“Not bad at all.” She pulled away. It was getting too crowded. Nicky glanced at the tickets, trying to figure out which gate they were supposed to be headed for. There were signs appearing, and people were absently forking into different queues. People with lanyards were trying to herd the crowd into the right areas, disrupted by the throng around the merchandise tent.

“You want a shirt?”

“I got one in the gift basket,” she pointed out. She had. Along with vouchers for a spa day, which she'd shared with Cecilia. She'd also gotten fancy cheese, some scented candles, and a bottle of red. Nicky had kept the tickets, a few bottles of craft beer and a box of Belgian chocolates. He'd given the rest to the other lads. Mick was very pleased with the caviar apparently.

They showed their tickets to one of the lads at the turnstiles, and were on their way, up a staircase and into the backstage area.

There were a few other people standing around, when they got there. Competition winners or something. A couple of girls were talking excitedly, looked almost to be shaking with nerves. A few people with lanyards were keeping an eye on them, looking bored. Nicky sidled over.

“Hey, erm...” He held out the tickets. “Backstage passes? VIP thing.”

“They're running ten minutes late,” the girl said. She pulled a book of post-its out of her pocket. “Gettting something signed?”

“Er...” Nicky looked at Georgina. She shrugged. “Yeah, why not.” The tickets were the best he had. “These, then?” She nodded, asked for the correct spelling of their names, jotted them down on the post-its, then attached them to the tickets. Nicky handed Georgina's to her, looking down at his name in neat print.

“Are they not going to just ask us in person?”

“Suppose it makes things easier,” Nicky suggested. “Spelling and that.” He looked at the other girls waiting excitedly. “Well, let's hurry up and wait.”

 

*****

 

The corridor was busy, as they headed through backstage. Usually was. Crew dashing about, staff getting things organised. Mark doubted people really realised just how many people were involved in making a concert happen. They just saw the four of them, the musicians, and maybe a couple of roadies. Backstage, Lansdowne Road was like a beehive, everybody madly working at their jobs, keeping things running.

“VIPs are waiting,” the runner ahead of them explained. “We've got...” She checked her watch. “Fifteen minutes. About twenty people all up.” They nodded. They'd done this enough times. It felt a little unfair for the money they'd probably spent. Less than a minute with each them, long enough for a photo and a signature. Mark didn't know why anyone would bother.

He rounded the corner. There was a chorus of squeals. Bryan squealed back. Shane waved. Mark took a deep breath.

It was fine. There weren't that many of them. They looked nervous, but not unmanageable. If anything, a couple of them were hanging back, looked almost frightened to speak to them. Kian was already walking over, fishing a pen out of his pocket. Mark smiled down at a girl who was anxiously holding out a program.

They took a quick snap. He looked up, going to speak to the next one.

“Hey.” He got a crooked smile, stared back. Nicky. It took him a moment. It had been a week, and he'd been distracted, at the time, but it was definitely him. Out of his uniform and in jeans and a tight t-shirt, sunglass propped up on his hair.

“Hey,” he managed. “Didn't know you were a fan.” It was meant to be a joke, but it came out weak and half-hearted. Nicky shrugged.

“Well, after you sent the tickets, we figured we'd better use them.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He had asked if they could send flowers or something, and Louis had suggested a gift basket, seeing as they still had a few hanging around from the album launch party. “Well... I thought I'd say thanks, you know? For...”

“Just doing my job.” A woman was standing nearby, loitering awkwardly. “Sorry, this is Georgina, my partner. She was at the airport too.” She nodded and smiled.

“Well... thanks, then. To both of you.”

“Cheers for the spa voucher,” she said breathlessly. She was doing that thing people did sometimes, where they were trying to be casual, but were still aware that you were actually quite famous and weren't sure how to be behave. Mark knew how that felt. He still didn't know how to talk to celebrities. He'd been a mess when he'd met Mariah Carey the first time.

“Oh, no problem.” They were holding post-its. “Did you want me to sign...?”

They held out the tickets. Mark scribbled his name on them.

“Wait, I'll...” He felt stupidly awkward, didn't want to treat them like regular fans, but didn't know what else to say. Didn't know why he was caught by blue eyes, ones that had glanced at him through the rear-view window with utter concern. Nicky had held his hand. It had been nice. A bright spot in an otherwise horrible evening.

He gestured the other lads over, explained who Nicky was. There were hugs all round, they all signed the tickets, and then they gave Georgina's camera to one of the staff, got him to get a snap of them all together. Kian kissed Georgina on the cheek. She looked made up.

“I'm sorry, we have to...” They were running out of time. He realised he hadn't even spoken to any of the other fans. “Enjoy the show?”

“I'm sure we will.” Nicky winked. Mark wasn't sure why that made him flood with sudden tingles. Nicky's lips were very pink, a perfect smirking pout. He licked his own, mouth dry. A hand stretched out. Mark shook it.

It was warm and soft on his skin, squeezed quickly before letting go.

Then Nicky was gone, disappeared behind a wall of excited faces.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Nicky hadn't been to a Westlife show before. He'd considered going, the previous year, but by the time he'd gone to buy tickets they'd all been sold out. He hadn't been too disappointed. He liked their music well enough, but wouldn't have called himself a fan, just a casual enjoyer of a few radio songs.

He could see why other people were, though. The show was great fun. Big screens and catwalks and fireworks and all the rest of it. Loads of energy, some crap dancing. Mark sang a Prince song on his own, dressed in white and purple and looking like he was having a grand time.

They were sat quite near the stage, a bit off to the left of the field, a fairly fantastic view. Georgina sang along, seemed to know more of the words than Nicky suspected she'd ever admit to. By the time it was wrapping up and going to encore Nicky suspected he'd probably try to buy tickets next year.

And maybe he was a little bit jealous.

It was silly, probably. He wasn't devastated, but there was a sad little pang there, a bit like the feeling he got when he'd seen Leeds playing on the telly in the year after he'd been cut from the team. Not anger, or resentment, or anything entitled like that, just an odd feeling like he'd missed an opportunity somewhere. Something that might have been and wasn't.

He felt like that sometimes, when he looked at Georgina. They'd probably have made a good go if it. Marriage, house, kids. He'd wanted it.

It just wasn't meant to be.

“Have fun?” he asked, as they walked back towards town. There was no point trying to get onto a train, not until the crowds cleared, so they'd decided on a late dinner and drinks instead. They were still keeping pace with the crowd, but it was slowly thinning. Georgina was holding his hand so they wouldn't lose each other.

“It was alright.” She was flushed, though, still looked excited. “I liked the bit with the guitars.”

“That was cool,” Nicky agreed. “Stripped back, sort of thing.” They turned right, forking off from the main crowd. Georgina let go of his hand. “Nice meeting them beforehand, and all that.”

“It was nice watching you make the eyes at Mark Feehily,” she laughed. Nicky looked at her in surprise. “Oh, come on. You only make that face when you're looking to get someone into bed. I've seen it first hand, remember.” She poked him, still laughing. “Good luck.”

“I wasn't...”

“Dear diary, how do I make Mark from Westlife my boyfriend? I just know that if he noticed me, we'd be in true love forever and ever...”

“Georgina!” He shoved her, aghast. She shoved back. “I wasn't.”

“You don't think he's cute?”

“He's fine. I don't know.” He was cute. He was really, really cute. “You think David Beckham's cute, it doesn't mean...”

“And if he asked, I'd be off like a shot.”

“He's not gay.”

“Well, Beckham's not, no.” She chuckled. “He looked pretty nervous talking to you. Maybe he likes you back?”

“It was an awkward situation. He probably just didn't know what to say. Like, hi, you drove me to the hospital and watched me throw up and held my hand a bit, here's a concert.”

“You held his hand?”

“He was in shock.” Mark had sort of held his hand, actually, Nicky just hadn't let go. “I thought we were going to get food, not try to marry me to a boyband.”

“You want to marry him now?”

“Fuck off.” He pointed at a pub they were passing. “So, here then, or?”

“Don't try to distract me,” she retorted. “But yeah, I'm starving.” She took his hand again. “Come on, buy me a pint and tell me about how you held Mark Feehily's hand.”

Nicky sighed, and followed her up the steps.

 

*

 

“Seemed like a good sort,” Bryan commented. Mark looked up. He'd been busy staring out the window, watching the city fall past.

“Sorry?”

“That Nicky lad. The police.”

“Oh... yeah. He was.” Mark looked back out the window. Shane and Kian were in the car behind them, on the way into town. They did this every time they performed in Dublin, went out on the lash and had a boys' night. Old times, sort of thing. They did it in every city, in fairness, but there was something different about doing it in Ireland, back at the old haunts, from when they'd not been quite so famous and had been excited about it all.

“Didn't know you'd invited them to the gig.”

“I hadn't. Not on purpose, anyway Louis sent a basket.” Bryan nodded.

“Lady cop was a sweetheart too.”

“Yeah, she was.” He wasn't sure if Bryan was going somewhere with this, or if he was just randomly saying words, like he tended to do sometimes.

“Pretty sure he was gay.”

“Um.” Mark blinked. His cheeks were going hot. People were gay. It didn't have anything to do with him. “Okay, so?”

“No, just observing.”

“Do that a lot?”

“More and more lately.” Bryan raised an eyebrow, then turned away, leaving Mark speechless and staring at the back of his head. “Not my business, obviously. Like, not my scene, but fair play. Don't often think of coppers as being that way inclined, do ya? Suppose there must be plenty of them, but...”

“What are you talking about?”

“No idea.” Bryan laughed. “Just having a chat.” He nudged Mark. Mark nudged him back, scowling. Bryan grinned. “Good for that, having a chat. Always up for one.” He winked. “If there's anything you want to chat about.”

“Er... not really, no.” He turned to the window to hide his scorching cheeks. “Thanks, though, Bry. I'll keep it in mind.”

The car began to slow. Bryan was already unbuckling his seatbelt. “Come on, then. Let's get stuck into the shots.” He climbed out before the car was even stopped. The door slammed shut.

Mark stared at the back of the driver's seat for a long moment, trying to collect thoughts he couldn't quite grasp.

 

*

 

The meal had been decent. Standard pub food, washed down easier with a couple of beers. Georgina was a little tipsy, giggling when Nicky twirled her and tugged her back in, catching her around the waist. She looked very pretty tonight, actually. Always looked pretty, even when she was in full kit, though she definitely wasn't soft on the job. Nicky had seen her take down harder bastards than half the fellas had.

“No chance of a cab,” Nicky commented. The queue was around the corner. “Keep walking?”

“Sure, it's a nice night.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. Was about his height, now that she was carrying her heels, ballet flats on her feet. He didn't know where she'd kept them, in her tiny purse, though maybe it was a secret woman thing. “Keep walking, and if we make it home, we make it home.”

“It's a three hour walk.”

“To mine, idiot, not yours.” She lived a little closer, though it was still an hour and half at least. “Crash on my couch if you want.”

“Take you up on it.” He kissed her hair. “Thanks, G.”

“For what?”

“For... you know. Staying friends with me. You're my favourite.”

“Ditto.” She looked up, then, and for a moment Nicky was tempted. Caught, a little, by parted, moist lips. She raised an eyebrow. “You going to kiss me or something?”

“Was thinking about it.”

“Why?”

“Dunno. Old time's sake.” He pecked her quickly on the mouth. “How was that?”

“Weird.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Think I'm still gay.”

“Congratulations.” She rolled her eyes as she nestled back into his shoulder. “Thought about becoming a lesbian for a bit.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, wasn't my thing.” She glanced up. “Too bad. I feel like it'd be easier. Sharing clothes, liking the same movies, all that sort of stuff.”

“We used to do that stuff together all the time,” Nicky chuckled. “You've still got some of my shirts.”

“They're handy for pyjamas.” She shrugged. “Same deal with being gay, though. You can have a beer and watch the football together, fart all the time, all those lads things.”

“We did that together as well,” Nicky pointed out.

“Well, you did the farting,” she teased. “If we get to fifty and we're both tragically single, you want to do a marriage of convenience?”

“Deal.” He shook her hand, laughing. “Still prepared to get a strap-on?”

“For you? Always.” She pulled away. “What's going on there?” Nicky looked to where she was gesturing. A club up the end of the street. It was packed outside, and not the usual girls in too few clothes queueing for the door. There were ropes up, and about ten burly lads in suits holding the door. He could just see the balcony from here, overflowing with people.

“Private party? Not sure.” He peered up, curiosity getting to him. “They'll be getting a noise complaint if they don't calm it down in the next half hour or so.” He glanced at his watch. It was almost two in the morning.

“Get off the job,” Georgina laughed. She was looking up too. They were getting closer. People were filling the beer garden out the back, coloured lights strung above the crowd. The balcony was heaving.

“Nicky!”

He looked up, startled at the sound of his name. There was a lad hanging over the edge, obviously drunk, messy blonde hair flopping over his forehead.

Bryan McFadden. The one who was married to the Atomic Kitten lass.

“What you doing here?”

“Just passing!” Nicky called back. “What are you doing?”

“Afterparty!” Bryan grinned. “Come in, yeah? I'll tell everyone to hide their drugs.” He turned, looking back into the room. “Oi, anyone's holding, flush your stash! Guard's here!” There was a ripple of laughter. Nicky rolled his eyes. “Seriously. There's like... so many free shots. You like vodka? Bring your girlfriend.”

“I'm not his girlfriend!”

“Come in, anyway!” He waved. “Oi, Paul.” One of the burly lads looked up. Head of security, Nicky recognised him from the airport. “Let these two in. They're with me.” Paul looked at them appraisingly, then sighed, unhooking the rope. Nicky glanced at Georgina. She was already headed for the door.

“Really?”

“How often do you get to go to a celebrity party?” she asked. Nicky shrugged. Probably right. “Come on.”

 

*

 

Mark was nursing his fourth vodka when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

“Look what I found!” Bryan announced, then bounced away. Mark stared after him in confusion, then realised there was someone standing in the spot Bryan had vacated, blonde hair and a crooked smile.

“Er... hey,” Nicky said, laughing. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“What are you doing here?” Mark realised how rude that had sounded. “Sorry, I didn't mean it like that,” he said quickly. “Just...”

“I wasn't expecting to be here either, we were just passing.” He gestured to where Bryan was talking rapidly to Georgina, who was laughing, shaking her head. “Bryan saw us from the balcony. Small world, right?”

“Really small.” Mark looked back at his drink. “Want one?”

“Sure.” Nicky hopped up on the barstool next to him. “This is my first celebrity party. What's the protocol?”

“Don't think it counts as celebrity,” Mark chuckled. “Mostly crew and stuff. The support acts. It's just... you know. Going clubbing. Normal.”

“At a private venue. With the doors blocked off.”

“Yeah, well...” He shrugged, feeling abruptly awkward. “Normal is kinda relative. At this stage.” He took a sip of his drink, wondering if he was too drunk or not enough. “If I say thanks again, will it sound weird?”

“No.” Nicky smiled. “But it'll be unnecessary. I really was just doing my job.”

“Yeah, but,” Mark pursed his lips. “It must be scary, doing stuff like that. Like, your job in general. I don't think I'd have the guts to like...” He trailed off. “I mean, is it dangerous?”

“Sometimes,” Nicky allowed. “I've got a good scar on my arm where some drunk got me with a broken bottle. Couple of stitches.” He hiked up his sleeve to show it. It wasn't awful, a red and white pucker below his shoulder, looked a couple of years old.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Nicky laughed. “Otherwise it's not that interesting. Arresting shoplifters. Sometimes I direct traffic.”

“Ooh, tell me more,” Mark joked, feeling himself blush. “Did you always want to do that, then?”

“Not really. I was actually signed to Leeds. FA Youth Club, 1997. Goalkeeper.” Mark laughed in surprise.

“What happened? Did you get injured or something?”

“No, just... got let go. It played out.”

“I'm sorry.” Mark hesitated, wondering if he'd stepped in it. Nicky didn't look upset. “So then you joined the guard?”

“More or less, yeah.” The bartender slid Nicky's drink in front of him. “Not as scary as what you're doing. Getting up in front of all those people? That's crazy. Do you get used to that?”

“Yes and no.” It was odd. It was part of the job, but Mark would have been lying to say he didn't get butterflies just before every gig. It wasn't a bad thing, more like adrenaline, getting hyped up before he went on stage. There was really no feeling like it. “The stage thing is... fine, I guess. It's the other stuff that gets weird. Like... fanmail and girls crying and saying they love you, and...”

“Getting mobbed at the airport?”

“Getting mobbed everywhere.” Mark ignored the twist of panic at the memory of it. He kept having dreams about it. Waking up in a cold sweat, sure he couldn't breathe. “People go to my parents' house, sometimes.”

“Seriously?” Nicky raised an eyebrow. Mark nodded.

“Yeah. They're good about it. I guess I just feel bad, you know? They're not the ones doing this. I am. So...” He trailed off, realised he'd been rambling. “Sorry. It sounds like I'm complaining or something. Ungrateful celebrity, or whatever. So cliché.”

“It's fine,” Nicky laughed. “I get it.” He touched Mark's hand. “Want another drink?”

“Yes.” Mark gestured. The bartender brought a couple more over, slid them down in front. Nicky drained the rest of the first one and handed it back. “You can enjoy the party if you want. You don't have to sit listening to me complain, just because you saved my life.”

“Is that a hint? I can go away.”

“No. No, god.” He couldn't get the words out the way he wanted to. Was sure he either sounded like a complete sadsack or an ungrateful bastard, brushing Nicky off. He didn't want to sound like either. “Stay. Really. I'm about to get very drunk.”

“Sounds like fun.” Nicky touched his hand again. Mark tried not to pull away. Tried not to wrap his into Nicky's, when a flood of heat trickled up his arm. Tried not to grin like an idiot.

Nicky took a sip of his drink, smiling around the lip of the glass.

 

*

 

Nicky was laughing, trying to get the story out. Mark was too. He was quite good company, actually, once the awkwardness was gotten past. A sweet kid, very funny with a couple of drinks in him. They'd been talking for over an hour. Nicky had barely noticed the time.

“So,” he giggled. “So, I said 'freeze', right? And he did. Like, literally froze, like a game of statue. Stood on one leg, one hand still on his willy, these two girls in his bed, and I'm like 'you can put your foot down, if you want.”

Mark laughed, burying his face in the arm he had folded on the bar. Nicky clapped him on the shoulder, feeling it shake under his hand.

“And then, right, I'm like 'you're under arrest for possession and soliciting sex' and I'm rattling off the list, and he's slowly putting his foot down, naked as hell. Georgina's blocking the door, I'm approaching with the cuffs, and the guy starts crying. Like... _crying_ , crying. Then he tells me it's not him I need to arrest, that he's just a patsy. That it goes all the way up, man. It's a conspiracy. He'll hand in the guy in charge and everything.”

Mark was watching him with wide eyes, peeking up over the arm he was buried in. Nicky grinned, hand still on his shoulder.

“There's this fishtank in the corner, right, and he points at it, shouts 'that's the one you want, officer!' and it's just this fucking goldfish, swimming around and blinking it's dumbfuck fish eyes at us. I'm like, well, I can't really arrest the fish, can I? But before I look back he's yanked free, and is running at the window, hands cuffed behind his back.

“No!” Mark laughed. “Did he jump?”

“He jumped. Straight out the window and two stories, still naked. Broke his ankle. And the whole time he's screaming that the fish made him do it, that the fish wanted him to get high and fuck a callgirl, because it likes to watch. That there's fish in every home, starting an invasion. He was still telling us about the evil fish when we were getting him into the ambulance.”

“Jesus.” Mark was going red. He was gasping, drunk laughter hiccuping out of him. Nicky was laughing too, leaned on the bar on one elbow, the other clutching his drink clumsily. “What happened to the fish?”

“Taken into evidence, officially. Unofficially one of the lads gave it to his kid as a present. Still alive. She called it Ariel, after The Little Mermaid.”

“Ariel, the evil fish?” Mark snorted. Nicky nodded. “That's...”

“Nicky.” They both turned at a tap on Nicky's shoulder. Georgina. “Going to head off. You staying or going?”

“Oh, erm...” He didn't want to go. Really didn't. And not just because they were at a celebrity party. Mark was looking at him furtively, like he didn't want to say either way, but was hoping Nicky would stay. Or maybe Nicky was reading too much into it.

“It's fine, you stay,” she said quickly. She was looking between them, and Nicky saw a smirk sneak over her mouth. “I can make it on my own.”

“I should probably get going soon, anyway,” Mark said. The place was starting to empty out, Nicky realised. It was almost four in the morning, after all. He hadn't realised how late it had gotten. “You go. I'll just...” He gestured at his drink.

“Okay, then.” Nicky reached out a hand. “Well.”

“Well,” Mark agreed, shaking it. His grip was firm, a little clumsy with drink “I erm...”

“Does anyone have a pen?” Georgina asked suddenly. They both looked at her in confusion. Mark nodded, fumbling in his pockets, and came back with the one he'd been using at the signing before the show. He passed it to her. She grabbed his hand. “There you go,” she announced, scribbling on the back of it.

“Erm...”

“That's his number.” She pointed at Nicky, who was staring in shock. “Personal mobile.” She took Nicky's wrist, while he and Mark looked awkwardly at each other, Mark's mouth hanging a little open in confusion, a bit like the fish they'd been discussing before. Nicky could feel himself going red. “Bye Mark.”

“Yeah, bye...” Nicky said stupidly. Then he was being towed away.

They stumbled down the stairs, out into the night. He gasped at the shock of cold air. Georgina was laughing.

“What was that about?”

“Maybe he'll call.” She shrugged, slinging an arm around his shoulder, while he tried to figure out if he was supposed to be annoyed or not.

“Yeah,” Nicky snorted. “Right.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Mark couldn't sleep. It was late. Two in the morning or so, and he'd woken from a nightmare. The same one, even three weeks later. Crushed in, not able to breathe. Head in his arms and wanting to scream, not able to get the words out while fingers clawed at him, yanking off strips of his skin until there was nothing left but bone and muscle, their nails ragged with blood...

He'd woken, frozen under the sheets. That had been half an hour ago, and his heart was still racing. Pulse pounding in his throat. There'd been tears on his cheeks when he'd opened his eyes, but he hadn't been crying, was just laid in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The boards were cold under his feet when he climbed out and went to the window, looking down. Dark street, hollow yellow glow of the lamp on the other side. He scrubbed the tears away. Shrugged on his robe.

Suddenly, he wanted someone to ask if he was okay.

There wasn't much point going back to bed, so he went downstairs, got the kettle on. Settled on the sofa and turned on the television, beginning to flick through channels. There was bloody nothing on, so he began to play with his phone, flicking through texts. Thought about calling someone, but there wasn't really anyone to call, especially at two in the morning.

He hovered over Nicky's number.

He didn't know why he'd keyed it into his phone. It had still been scrawled on the back of his hand when he'd woken the next morning, starting to fade, and he'd just... done it. Saved it to his contacts and washed it off in the shower ten minutes later, his forehead leaned against cold tiles to soothe the hangover swelling through him.

Silly, probably.

Maybe it was being half asleep that made him do it, or maybe it was being sat alone and wanting just to hear a voice, but his thumbs were tapping out a message already. He hit send before he could stop himself.

_What you doing?_

He didn't expect a reply. It was almost twenty minutes later, his tea clutched between his hands while he tried not to nod off on the sofa, that his phone beeped.

_Who's this?_

Mark stared at the message a long time. Nicky didn't have his number. Wouldn't know if it was him or not. Mark was tempted just to ignore it. Pretend he'd never been so stupid and leave it well enough alone.

Still, Nicky was police, wasn't he? They could probably trace calls or something. Then he'd look like a great big idiot, Nicky finding out while Mark hid in his house and didn't reply to his messages.

He quickly tapped back that it was Mark, and sorry, he'd actually meant to text the person above Nicky in his contacts, honest mistake.

_That's fine ;) What are you doing up so late? Got another crazy celebrity party?_

_Haha no just couldn't sleep_ he typed back. _Why are you awake?_

 _Night shift. Just finished_. _Weird night if you want another funny story :D_

Mark hesitated. Hesitated again. A dripping faucet of hesitation, plinking into the back of his mind while he tried to find a good reason to do what he wanted to do. Tried to find a better reason not to. Tried to find a way to explain to himself that he wasn't doing this for the reasons he suspected he was, and that it had nothing to do with Nicky's smile, or his laugh, or those kind, cheeky blue eyes.

_Happy to hear it if you want to come round?_

Nicky didn't reply. When Mark checked the clock he realised it had only been a minute. It felt like ten.

He bit his lip, watching earnestly as the phone stayed silent.

A text came through. He almost jumped.

_What's the address?_

 

*

 

Nicky didn't know why he was here, precisely.

It was beautiful. In the nice area of Dublin, just outside the shopping district. Gated apartment buildings and large houses neatly ordered down a winding, well-kept street. He hated to think how much a place like this cost, even to rent. Especially to someone who was out of the country half the time.

He hit the buzzer. Gorgeous Victorian townhouse, white and trimmed with dark grey. The gate clicked open, and Nicky let himself through, pushing it shut behind himself. He knocked. The door looked more expensive than his flat.

“Hey.” Nicky smiled. Mark was in his robe, though he looked like he'd tried to tidy himself up. Brushed hair, and Nicky could smell toothpaste when he spoke.

“Er... hey,” Mark scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry. Probably weird?”

“No.” It was, a bit. He hadn't been sure entirely what to do when Mark had asked him over, especially after the odd wrong number bit. He wanted to tell himself that it was curiosity, that you didn't often get to go to a pop-star's house. The rest of him had just wanted to see Mark again.

“Come in,” Mark urged. He pushed the door open, and Nicky felt his breath catch, tried not to gasp out loud.

The place was bloody ridiculous.

“Nice place,” he managed.

“Oh. Yeah. It's just rented. I...” Mark glanced around, eyes flicking absently off the imposing fireplace, the high ceilings. It was beautiful, stylish and sparse. Nicky wondered if there was a charge just for looking at it. “Cup of tea?”

“Sure,” Nicky said carefully. Mark looked nervous. Nicky began to kick off his shoes, sure he wasn't going to risk treading anything onto the rug. He was almost frightened to ask about the toilet.

“Bathroom's through there, if you need it,” Mark offered, turning down a hall. Nicky followed. “Do you want a tour?”

“I don't think I'll cope,” Nicky chuckled. “You know this place is amazing, right? Like...” He stared at the kitchen they'd just entered. Glass and stone everywhere. “It's actually offensive how nice it is.”

“Thanks? I think?” Mark was fussing with the kettle.

“Don't you have a servant to make tea for you?”

“No,” Mark laughed. “I do have a cleaner twice a week, but that's about it.” He turned back to slide a mug onto the kitchen island. Nicky hopped up on a stool. “Sugar?” Nicky nodded, taking the bowl. “So you had a weird night, did you?”

“Not weird, just...” Nicky put the bowl back down. Mark was watching him expectantly. “You know when it's one thing after another, and you're fairly certain someone's taking the piss?” Mark nodded. “Had to break up a party. Pretty standard. Underage drinking, most of them will scatter when you get there. Anyway, I knocked on the door, said police, heard someone yell out, and then they all ran. I usually give them to the count of ten before I knock again.”

“Charitable.”

“We were all sixteen once.” Mark nodded, rolling his eyes. “So, yeah, I opened the door and the place was empty. Mess everywhere, crisps all over the floor, empty bottles, usual stuff. Head through, because the back door's open, and there's kids trying to jump the fence and go through the bushes. Then I realise one kid, she's gotten stuck. Jeans are caught on the top of one of the fence-posts, and she can't get down. Can't get up, either, just swinging, flailing about and screaming for her friends.”

“Oh no,” Mark chuckled. “Did you get her down?”

“Eventually. Had to hold her while she got her jeans off. Big lass, couldn't lift her back up. So she's sitting on the grass in her knickers, drunk off her face and pissed off because her friends have left her. I got the jeans down, but she didn't want to put them on, just sat there crying and shouting. I asked her address, got her down to the car. Then I realise the other shits I've chased off have had time to cover all my windows and mirrors in shaving foam.”

Mark was trying not to laugh. Nicky grimaced back, taking a sip of his tea while blue eyes twinkled at him.

“So I wiped it off enough to see, got her in, and then she started freaking out, starts telling me literally everything she's ever done wrong. Cheating on a test and stealing her cousin's pencils and stupid shit. I just nodded, told her it was fine, and then, just before she climbed out of the car, she threw up. All up the back of the passenger seat and on the floor. Smelled like red fizzy and vodka.”

“Urgh.” Mark put his hand over his mouth. Nicky smirked. It had been disgusting, but it was always fun telling other people these stories.

“So I palmed her off to her dad, washed the car, dropped it back off at the precinct garage, got in my car, started to drive home, and you texted me.”

“Well, I'm sorry I interrupted. Sounds like a good night,” Mark chuckled.

“Don't be sorry. Even if it was a wrong number.” Nicky winked. Mark sipped his tea, still smiling. “Why couldn't you sleep?”

“Just... couldn't.” Mark shrugged. “Think it's the tour. Weird hours. I got too used to sleeping in and staying up late.”

“That over now?”

“Yeah. Last gig was four days ago. Think I'm finding my old body clock again.” He yawned. “Weirder for you, right?”

“I got used to it. I erm...” He couldn't believe he was about to say this, but it felt odd not saying it, like keeping a secret, even though he supposed it was irrelevant anyway. “Do you want to hear another funny story?”

“Sure.” Mark drained the rest of his tea. “I'll put the kettle on.”

 

*

 

“Wait... what?” Mark laughed, unable to believe his ears. Nicky had just gotten through telling a story so completely outlandish it had to be made up. Had to be. Still, he was grinning quite genuinely, looking made up at how surprised Mark was.

“Seriously. I got first call-back, and then I fucked it. And that was it. No Westlife for me.”

“That's...” It was insane. He shook his head, watched Nicky take a smug sip of his tea. “I'm so sorry I don't remember you. We saw literally hundreds of people, and...”

“It's fine. I looked different, anyway. Long hair and everything. Tragic.”

“Still...” He shook his head again. Couldn't stop shaking his head. They'd heard Father and Son dozens of times that week, along with everything else in Boyzone's catalogue, and there'd been a lot of people who'd flubbed it.

He wished he remembered Nicky. Wished they hadn't dismissed him like that. Wished he'd known Nicky all this time, instead of just...

Which was probably a silly thing to think. They weren't friends or anything. Nicky was...

“Then a couple of days later I got my letter for the Guard.”

“Wow.” He took a sip of his tea, and realised it had gone cold while Nicky had been talking. He went to put the kettle on again, still shaking his head in disbelief. Nicky chuckled from behind him. “Another one?”

“Yeah, and then I'd better go.” It was late. Or early. The sun would be coming up soon.

“Of course, yeah.” Mark glanced over his shoulder. “We should do this again, though. Like, I'm mostly off work for the next month or so until we start recording, so if you want to drop by after work again...” He was sure he sounded nervous. Nicky was nodding, though.

“Sounds like fun.” Nicky looked around. “I'd invite you to mine, but it's not nearly as fancy as this.”

“I'm sure it's fine,” Mark assured him. He was sure it was. Nicky was looking a bit shy, though, peeking up at him from under lowered lashes. He was beautiful.

Completely beautiful.

Mark swallowed, looking away. Screwed his eyes shut, trying to erase it. A hand touched his shoulder, and he opened them to see Nicky stood next to him.

“Why are you standing there with your eyes shut?”

“Just... tired. You know.” Nicky was standing awfully close. “Bryan said you're gay,” he blurted out, felt himself go red when he realised what he'd said. Nicky laughed.

“Figure that out on his own, or did Georgina tell him?” he teased. Mark laughed nervously, looking back at the boiling kettle. “Is that a problem?”

“No. I mean... course not. Just something Bryan said.”

“Okay.” Nicky shrugged. “Kettle's done.”

“Oh... yeah.” Mark reached for it, beginning to pour hot water. Nicky was still standing very close. He finished, and turned to press a mug into Nicky's hands, felt fingers touch his for a moment while he did. Nicky smiled.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah. No bother.” He nodded. “Erm...”

Lips pressed quickly to his. His eyes widened in shock. Nicky pulled back, gaze searching.

“Er...” Mark blinked, heart a thrum in his throat. Nicky was already turning away, as though it had never happened. “Erm...” Nicky sat back down at the table, looking into his mug, a pink flush spreading across his cheeks. “Er...”

“Sorry,” Nicky mumbled. “Don't know why I did that.”

“It's... fine.” Mark sank onto the stool on the other side of the island. “I'm not. That.”

“My mistake. Sorry.” Nicky licked his lips. Mark wondered, wildly, if he could taste Mark on them. “I'll go?”

“You don't have to.” Mark's lips tasted of Nicky. He licked them quickly, trying to focus past the confusion. “I mean. Stay for tea.”

“Sure.” Nicky nodded. “I'll stay for tea.”

 

*

 

Nicky stayed for tea.

It was wary, a little awkward. Nicky didn't know what had come over him exactly, but he couldn't get the taste of Mark off his mouth. Wanted it again, badly. Had been sure that Mark had kissed him back, if only for the barest, pursing moment. Was sure that if Mark had been as straight as he claimed, Nicky wouldn't have been invited to stay. Straight boys generally freaked out, kicked you right back out the door. Mark had just blushed prettily, stammered a little, and then finished making the tea.

Or perhaps Nicky was reading too much into it.

“This was fun,” he said, as he finally headed for the door. It was almost dawn, and he was knackered. Didn't want to leave despite his exhaustion.

“Yeah. Erm.” Mark took a deep breath. Seemed to be taking a lot of them, like he was constantly about to say something, but then didn't. Nicky smiled, stood on the step and looking back in at the beautiful house, at Mark, tired and muddled in the doorway. “Should probably get some sleep now.”

“Will you?”

“Don't know. Think I'm so tired I'm awake.” Mark smiled. He was very cute when he smiled. “Probably manage some breakfast and then pass out.”

“Know the feeling,” Nicky agreed. “Well, if you ever feel like texting the wrong number again, feel free.” He winked. Mark looked shyly back. “See you round?”

“See you round,” Mark echoed. “Thanks.”

“Told you to stop thanking me.”

“Not for that. Just for... you know. Coming round.”

“Thanks for having me.” Nicky grinned. “Now I can say I've been in Mark Feehily's amazing house, can't I?”

“Is that something you always wanted to say?”

“Hadn't really thought about it. Though he makes a mean cup of tea.”

“Does he now?”

“He does.” Nicky knew he should have left by now. Had a feeling he was continuing to talk just so he didn't have to go, though he suspected Mark was doing the same thing. “See ya, Mark.”

“Bye, Nicky.” Mark smiled.

The door shut.

Nicky sauntered back to his car, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

 

*

 

Mark slid down the door.

His arse hit the floor, legs curling to his chest. He wanted to say something. Do something. Wasn't sure what. All he knew was that it was way too early in the morning, he was almost asleep on his feet, and Nicky's kiss was still rippling under his skin.

He groaned, scrubbed his hands over his face, and peeked through spread fingers, hoping it would bring everything into focus, make it easier to figure out what to do next.

He didn't know. Didn't bloody know.

This wasn't him.

It was too hard to think about it, so he went to bed instead, curling up in the blankets and trying to figure out how to cocoon himself so tight his thoughts couldn't make it inside.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“You're cheerful today.”

“Mm?” Nicky looked up. He'd been making a cup of coffee, getting ready to go out on patrol. When he turned around Georgina was leaned in the kitchen doorway, one eyebrow raised expectantly. “How do you figure?”

“You were humming.”

“Was I?” He hadn't noticed. Georgina was smirking. “Dunno. Had a good sleep last night.” He had. Had crashed after he'd gotten back from Mark's, woken up ten hours later sure that it had all been a dream. Didn't know why he felt so good. It had been a weird kiss, Mark had shut him down, and they'd had a cuppa. It wasn't exactly a first date.

“You only hum when you've gotten laid.”

“Definitely haven't done that,” Nicky laughed. “Do I?”

“Yeah. After you went out with whatsit from the supermarket you were humming all week. It drove me up the wall.”

“I didn't.”

“If you say so.” She pushed away from the doorway. Nicky heard her footsteps tread down the hall, and turned to grab the milk from the fridge. The kettle clicked off behind him. He found himself humming again, and laughed to himself, rolling his eyes

It was silly, probably. Nothing had happened, not really, but he'd just been so comfortable. It felt like when he first started dating a boy, trying to feel each other out, this little thrill like he knew it was all ahead of him and couldn't wait to get started. Feeling, at the same time, like he wanted things to stay like this forever. Just being in each other's company, before it got complicated and emotional and the cracks started to appear. Like being content, if only for a moment.

He'd already decided to text Mark. Wondered if maybe it was being too forward, or if he was misconstruing things. Wondered if he should feel more nervous than this, texting a famous person who was apparently straight and had only spoken to him the night before out of error.

He felt like maybe it hadn't been an error. Like Mark had wanted to talk to him too.

He finished making his coffee, clicked a lid onto the disposable cup, and headed towards the car, humming as he went.

 

*

 

It was a beautiful day. Warm and clear, the sky a pale, pale blue turning to pink in the late-afternoon sky. A comfortable breeze was drifting through the balcony like a current, kept off Mark's skin by the loose jacket he'd tossed on before coming outside.

His phone was on the side table, next to the chair he was slumped into. He kept glancing at it. Wasn't sure, exactly, what he expected it to do. Whether it was hope or dread clenching in his chest.

It rang. The next breath wouldn't come. He swallowed hard, then reached for it, heart fluttering while he looked at the screen.

“Hey Bryan.”

“Don't sound so excited,” Bryan laughed. “I wake you up or something?”

“No, just... you know. Chilling outside.” He bit his lip, feeling suddenly like he'd been caught doing something. Wanted to explain that he hadn't been. Definitely not. Completely innocent. Nothing to hide.

He wasn't doing anything. He was just...

“Hello?”

“Sorry, what?” Bryan had been talking. He'd barely noticed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I er. The TV's on.”

“I thought you said you were outside.”

“It... no. I mean, I am. On the balcony. The TV's inside.”

“Why are you watching TV from outside?”

“I...” His face was going red. He felt like an utter twat. “Sorry, what?”

“...right.” Bryan sounded like he was rolling his eyes. “Well, obviously you've spent too much time on your own. Mind if I come crash at yours tonight?”

“Er...” Mark licked his lips, trying to think. There'd be no harm in that, surely. He definitely didn't have any other plans. Nothing in stone. He was just going to go to bed, maybe try to get some sleep. Probably not before two, though, because... well, it was the body clock thing, wasn't it? Nicky probably wouldn't even...

“Are you there?”

“I am. Yeah.” He hesitated. “Don't you have a perfectly good bed at home?”

“Yeah. Well, I do, but...” Bryan sighed. “Look, I've had a row with Kerry, and it's just easier if I make meself scarce for a few hours, yeah? Just for the night, I'll send some flowers home, and be out tomorrow morning. Won't even know I was there.”

“Everything okay?”

“Fine. Course. Married people problems, yeah? It'll blow over.” He didn't sound sure. “I can stay in a hotel if it's not okay.”

“Of course it is,” Mark sighed. It was. Bryan was one of his best friends, and he needed somewhere to crash, probably an ear to bend and a drinking partner. He understood. “When you coming round?”

“I'm two blocks away. See you in a minute.”

“Of course you are,” Mark chuckled. “See you soon.”

“Cheers, mate. I've got beer.” The phone went dead.

Mark sighed, looking down at it. There were no missed calls, no other messages. He stuffed it in his pocket as he stood and headed inside. By the time he made it to the front door the bell was already ringing. He reached for the knob with a smile fixed carefully onto his face.

 

*

 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Nicky shoved his phone away. He didn't know what he had been doing, exactly, felt like he was waiting. It was still early, only one, but he felt like someone was wiggling their hand inside him, all fluttery fingers, and not in a fun way.

“You look nervous.”

“I'm not. I'm just...” He patted his pocket, pathetically comforted by the square shape inside. They were walking around the club district, just keeping an eye on everything, making sure nobody was getting out of hand. There was a music festival in town for the weekend, and there were a lot of tourists, a lot of kids getting far too drunk and passing around party drugs. They'd already had to tell a few people to move along. “Advice?”

“Always.”

“Think I met a boy.” She nodded, shrugging like that was fairly obvious. It probably was. “Think I like him.”

“Oh no,” she gasped theatrically. “Not a boy you like?”

“Get away.” He nudged her, laughing. “You going to take this seriously or not?” She shrugged. “Right, so...” He paused as they heard shouting from up the street, but it was just a couple of girls having a good time, squealing and mucking about. “We're not dating or anything. Like we met, and we got drunk, and then a few nights later we hung out at his. And it was nice. It felt nice.”

“What's the problem then?”

“He's straight,” Nicky admitted. “Or says he is.”

“Ouch.”

“I kissed him.”

“How did that go?”

“Fine. Like... he didn't punch me or get annoyed or anything, he just said he was straight and we didn't talk about it again.”

“Best case scenario, then.”

“Exactly. Except...” He patted his pocket again. “I feel like he kissed me back, you know? Like, just for a second. And it felt like... I dunno. It was just weird. I feel like there's something there, and I like him, but...”

“He said he's straight, though.”

“Yeah,” Nicky sighed. “But so did I, didn't I? And then...”

“You were so very gay?” she teased. He nodded, laughing. “What do you want me to tell you?”

“I don't know. I'd be happy just hanging out with him, you know? But I don't think we're friends, not really. I think he's just a cool guy I sort of know. And I don't want to feel like I'm being his friend just because I fancy him, and I don't want him to feel like that either. Like I've got some sort of agenda. Because I don't.”

“So just be friends with him, then.”

“What if he did kiss me back?”

“Why don't you ask him?”

“I don't know how.” He groaned. “I feel like a fucking idiot, G. Like I'm some fucking teenager and I'm trying to get my mates to ask someone out for me.”

“It worked on me,” she laughed. “Who's the boy?”

“Just a boy.” She nodded, and he was glad for the darkness because he was sure he was blushing.

“Just a boy,” she echoed. “I'd ask him,” she said finally. “What have you got to lose, anyway?”

“Nothing,” he admitted. It didn't feel like it. But he supposed there really was nothing to lose. Either Mark was interested or he wasn't, and if he wasn't Nicky could go back to being the same as he'd been before all this had happened. Single and a bit lonely, but getting on with his life.

He didn't know if he could get the words out without his tongue tying itself in a knot.

So he reached for his phone instead.

 

*

 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Mark tossed the phone back onto the coffee table. It was late. They were quite a few beers in, Bryan sat in his boxers and a t-shirt on his sofa, Mark in his own pyjamas. Bryan had seemed more or less upbeat all night, but Mark knew the look, the one that said being positive was the most important thing right now, because if he wasn't he might start throwing things.

“You've been checking your phone all night.”

“Have I?” He probably had. It was almost two, after all, and Nicky would be knocking off soon. Not that Mark expected a call. It wasn't like they'd made plans or anything, they'd just said they'd have to do it again soon. That was hardly a date.

Not that he was thinking about dating Nicky.

Ha. No.

Mm.

“Another beer?”

“Sure.” Bryan sounded a little suspicious. Mark ignored it. Stood. He'd just reached the kitchen, hand in the fridge, when he heard his phone ring in the other room.

“Don't-” he started, almost tripping over himself to get back before Bryan could answer it. When he stumbled in, a beer clasped clumsily in either hand, Bryan was holding his phone, looking at the screen.

“Here ya go.” Bryan was smirking. That was probably a bad sign. Mark swapped a beer for his phone, ignoring Bryan's smug look. Nicky. It was Nicky. He lifted it to his ear, trying to look casual.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Nicky said. Mark felt himself melt slightly, hoarse, smiling voice weakening his knees as he stood with a cold, dripping bottle in one hand. “Sorry, wrong number.”

“Ha. Yeah.” He felt himself blush, let out an awkward laugh that sounded like a donkey being kicked. He winced. “Er... so, what's up?”

“Just finished work. Thought I'd see if I could bother you for a cuppa. No good stories tonight, but I could make something up?” He sounded almost nervous, was talking too fast. Mark's stomach gave a little skipping leap.

“I erm... can't tonight,” he said quickly. “Sorry. People round, and...”

“Oh. No. That's fine.” There was disappointment in Nicky's voice. Mark felt it wrap around his own heart. “Another time, maybe?”

“Definitely. Yeah.”

“Text me when you know? I'm off today, so I could...”

“That... yeah. Sounds great.” He wasn't sure if he sounded too excited or too casual. Wasn't sure which one was worse. “I have to go.”

“Okay.” Nicky hesitated. “Look, about the other night, I'm sorry I...”

“It's fine. Gotta go.” He hung up the phone before Nicky could reply, tossing it too hard at the coffee table, like it was hot and he was trying to get rid of it. Bryan took a sip of his beer.

“How's Nicky?”

“He's... yeah, fine.” Mark felt himself go bright red. “Erm.” He necked half the bottle, trying to flush the colour out of his face, almost spluttered when the foam hit the back of his throat. “So you wanna watch a movie? You pick something. I'm gonna go to the bathroom.”

He fled the room before either of them could say anything else.

 

*

 

“How'd it go?”

“Dunno,” Nicky admitted. The car was a little chilly with the air conditioning on, but he suspected he was trembling for other reasons. Couldn't remember feeling this strung out over a phone call to a boy, all nerves and excitement. Georgina glanced at him from the driver's seat.

“Not good?”

“Not sure. He was in the middle of something. Couldn't talk. I think he's going to call me tomorrow.” He bit his lip, looking at the phone. “I'm on the hook, aren't I? He's not going to call.”

“Couldn't tell you.” She pursed her lips. “It's Mark, isn't it?”

“What? No.” He said it too fast. She smirked. “You can't tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?” He groaned, covering his face. “So you kissed Mark Feehily.” He groaned again. “How was it?”

“Don't know,” he mumbled into his hands. “Nice. I'm really sure he kissed me back, G. I know you probably think I'm crazy, but...”

“I've always thought you were crazy.” They drew to a stop at a red light. A hand touched his shoulder a moment later. “What are you doing here, Nico? He's famous, he's apparently straight, and even if he's not he's definitely in the closet. What are you going to do? Are you going to date him? Go to the movies and restaurants and normal couple stuff?”

“I...” He shrugged. He hadn't thought about it, had just thought about the taste of Mark, sweet and soft on his mouth. “Maybe?”

“Nicky...”

“You're right. I know you're right.” She knew she was, from the look she gave him before she returned her gaze to the road. “He's really cute.”

“I know. That's his job.”

“I know.” He bit his lip, trying to think. “Tell you what, if he doesn't call tomorrow, I forget it ever happened. Crossed wires, brush with fame, obviously being an idiot.”

“What if he does call?”

“Then I don't know.” The light turned green. They moved forward with a gentle lurch. “Then I see what happens.”

“Do you want him to call?”

“Yeah.” She was smiling, shaking her head. “What?”

“Nothing.” She touched his shoulder again. “Not a thing.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Bryan left after breakfast. He'd been on the phone when Mark had gotten up, looked very sorry for himself, but once he'd hung up he was all smiles again, talking so fast Mark suspected it was just so neither of them could have an actual conversation, so Mark couldn't ask any questions. That suited him just fine. It meant Bryan couldn't ask any questions either.

Then Mark was left alone in his house, sat on the sofa with his hands trailing between his knees, phone clutched loosely in his grip.

It was too early. Definitely too early. Nicky didn't finish until two in the morning, and it was barely ten. The poor guy would still be asleep, probably, or just woken up, and Mark didn't want to interrupt him.

He'd call at noon. That seemed reasonable.

It was eleven-thirty when he found himself tapping out a text with trembling hands.

_Free now_

_Just getting up,_ the reply said, _come round if you want_. _I'm making pancakes._

 

*

 

Nicky checked the flat one more time, wondering why he was being so nervous about this.

He'd just put away the vacuum cleaner, had hoovered the carpet to within an inch of it's reasonably ancient life. He wasn't messy, not particularly, but suddenly he'd been throwing laundry in the hamper, hiding it in the closet, tidying up the bedroom as though there was any reason for Mark to see it. The dishes were away, counters wiped down, and he'd seriously thought about scrubbing the bathtub.

The doorbell made him jump. He turned, wanting to run to the mirror and check his hair. He'd just gotten out of the shower when he'd gotten Mark's text, hadn't known what to do, and managed to invite the guy round.

It had made sense at the time. Casual. Mark was a regular person, no big deal, and he didn't want to look like he just wanted to indulge in the celebrity lifestyle thing. Anyway, home turf, home advantage. If Mark had a problem with that, then...

The doorbell rang again. Nicky reached for the knob.

“Hey.” Mark was smiling, stood in the hallway in baggy jeans and a t-shirt. Nicky grinned stupidly back. “Er... sorry. Took a few tries to find your street.”

“That's fine. Erm...” He realised he was blocking the door. “Come in? I was going to make breakfast.”

And then Mark from Westlife was in his flat.

“Nice place.”

“Yeah. Right.” Nicky laughed awkwardly. His one bedroom flat. Sure. “Sorry. I mean, it's not as nice as yours, right? But thanks for, like, saying it.”

“It's nice,” Mark assured him. He was looking around, like he wasn't quite sure where to go. Not that there was anywhere _to_ go. Apart from the bedroom and bathroom, you could see pretty much the whole thing from where they were stood.

“Sit down, if you like.”

Mark did. Settled onto the sofa. Nicky wasn't sure what to do next. Wanted to ask if the cushions were soft enough, if the seat was comfortable. If Mark needed a special brand of sparkling water or a bowl of M&Ms with all the blue ones taken out.

“Offer you anything?”

“Water?”

“Cool. Yeah.” He went to the tap. Felt like he should be doing something fancy, but he didn't have any ice cubes or lime wedges, so tap water it was. Mark took it with a smile, their fingers brushing together. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Like... it's just tap water.”

“Okay,” Mark chuckled. “What's wrong with that?”

“I'm not sure,” Nicky admitted. “Feel like I should be offering more.”

“Pancakes are fine.” He stood up again. “Bathroom?”

“Yeah, just...” Nicky gestured. Mark put his drink down on the coffee table and headed towards the door. Nicky stared after him helplessly. “I'll start making pancakes, then.”

“Sure.” The door closed.

Nicky groaned, and went to turn on the stove.

 

*

 

The water was cold and sobering on his face. Mark splashed his cheeks again, then reached for a hand-towel to dry them. It was an okay bathroom. Okay place, really. Typical bachelor flat, the sort of thing he suspected he would have had himself, had he not been doing what he was doing. It had been the plan, at one point. Going to university, renting a place. If he'd asked himself ten years ago where he'd see himself at twenty-three, this would have been it.

Instead he was in the bathroom of a young man who had invited him around for pancakes.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He hadn't known what to wear, had compromised on trying to look casual but neat. Didn't want to look like he was inviting something, especially after the kiss, but at the same time had hoped Nicky would think he looked nice. Or not awful.

He wasn't sure what he'd hoped for, exactly.

He looked tired. Felt tired. Like something was hovering behind him, a drifting black cloud that was sucking slowly at him until all he could do was sit in his hotel room on his own and try to find the energy to sleep. Sleep until every thought went away and he didn't have to face...

When he went back out, Nicky was stood at the stove.

“Hey,” Mark said quietly. Nicky glanced over his shoulder. He seemed nervous. Mark was used to that, was almost disappointed. He'd liked that about Nicky, that he'd seemed in control, that he hadn't been fazed by the celebrity thing.

Mark supposed he couldn't judge. He was nervous as well.

“Can I be helpful?”

“It's fine.” The room smelled fantastic, like cooking butter. He sidled a little closer, saw a pile of pancakes on a plate on the counter. It grew as Nicky slid another one onto the stack, then reached for the batter.

“Family recipe?”

“You bet.” Nicky chuckled, tipping the plastic instant mix bottle over the pan. “Mam taught me and all.” It globbed out, sizzled as it hit the hot surface. “How've you been, anyway? You had people round last night?”

“Sort of. I mean, it was just Bryan.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, just... he came round with beers and we hung out for a bit.”

“That's nice.” Nicky flipped the pancake. “I mean... that you're actually friends in real life.”

“Real life?” Mark chuckled. “As opposed to what?”

“You know. The band.”

“We're not made up.” He laughed, saw Nicky grin. “No, I get you. Like there's so many bands that are just kind of business relationships. They're my best friends. I think I'd go mad on the road if we weren't.”

“It's like when I was in football,” Nicky said. “You might disagree sometimes, but if you're not all friends and you've got to spend all your time together it gets old really fast. I knew things about some of those lads I don't think their own families knew.”

“Exactly.” Nicky was right. Mark was sure there were things he knew about the others that they definitely wouldn't want their families to find out, or anyone else for that matter. They were honest with each other.

Not that there was anything to be honest about.

“Syrup?”

“Please.” Mark looked around, wanting to help, and grabbed two plates from a shelf above the sink. Nicky nodded gratefully as he set them on the table, then went to look for cutlery.

“Top drawer.”

He fished them out. By the time Nicky was putting the pan in the sink to soak Mark had the table set, was grabbing his glass of water from the coffee table and setting it alongside his plate.

“Thanks.” The plate of pancakes went in the middle of the table, along with a bottle of syrup and a pot of strawberry jam.

“Thanks back,” Mark said. Nicky's chair squeaked as he sat and pulled it into the table. They smiled at each other. Mark didn't know what to say.

He reached for a pancake instead.

 

*

 

“You want the last one?”

“I don't think I could.” Mark covered his mouth against a burp. “Scuse me.”

“Better out than in.” Nicky leaned over, snagging the last one from the plate. They'd gone through them rather quickly. Nicky hadn't noticed eating them, honestly, had been too caught up talking. Conversation had been a little halting at first, nervous, but quickly they'd been chatting away, laughing over stupid things, telling stories about work and life and all sorts. Mark was a sweetheart. He obviously loved his family, was a little reticent telling too many stories about the band, as though he was worried about letting spill something Nicky might go to the tabloids about, but he was funny and thoughtful, and Nicky liked talking to him.

He was just so _normal_.

Which was probably not something to say as a compliment, but it was unexpected.

It was lovely.

“Can I ask something?” Nicky said, as Mark cleared the table a few minutes later. Nicky had protested, but Mark had insisted and told him to go sit on the sofa, and Nicky supposed the novelty was something. Not that he'd be telling people he'd had Mark Feehily putting dishes in his sink.

“Sure.”

“Is this what you wanted to do?” Nicky leaned his chin in his hand. Mark glanced over his shoulder. “The band thing, I mean. Like, did you go 'ooh, I want to be in a boyband'.”

“Erm...” Mark laughed, heading over to sit beside him. “Yes? No?” The cushions heaved as he sank down. “It wasn't being in a boyband, not really. Like, yeah, that's great, but I was always going to do something with singing or music. I didn't really care what. Like, I was in about five different bands in school, and I was in the choir, and in the musicals. I didn't even know if I wanted to be famous, I just wanted to be in the industry. Whether it was writing songs, or singing other people's songs, or being in theatre, or whatever.”

“You write songs?”

“Yeah. I mean... they're not amazing or anything, but yeah. I've written a couple on the albums.”

“That's really cool.” Mark was blushing slightly, looked halfway between proud and bashful. “Do you want to write more?”

“I have. Like, I do. All the time. It's that thing, though, where if someone professional has a better one, we can't go clogging up the album with second-rate stuff. It's down to the record company, in the end.”

“You think your stuff's second-rate?” Nicky raised an eyebrow. Mark shrugged.

“I think it's not really what they're looking for. It'd be a bit weird if we had a whole album of mainstream pop and then I threw like a funk, R&B thing into the middle of it, with weird falsettos and electronic beats and stuff.”

“That's the sort of stuff you like?” Mark sort of nodded. “Can I hear it?”

“Er... it's on my laptop at home. None of it's finished or anything, it's just kind of ideas and weird samples basically.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking so self-conscious Nicky wanted to hug him. “It's just for me. Self-indulgence, or whatever.”

“I'm sure it's fantastic.” He was. Mark didn't seem the type of person to do anything by halves.

“It's kind of personal,” Mark admitted. “I kinda... I mean, you say things you don't mean to, with music.”

“What kind of things?”

“Just like... personal things.” Mark was shifting away from him on the sofa. Nicky hadn't realised how close they'd been sitting, hadn't registered the warmth up his side, though now it was gone he badly wanted it back. “It gets things out.”

“I get ya.” Nicky smiled. “Like when I was a kid, doing the angry teenager thing, playing loud music and screaming into a pillow.”

“Angry? You?” Mark laughed. “I think you're the most chilled person I've ever met.”

“Now I am.” He patted Mark's knee, then stood, headed for the kitchen. “Tea?”

“Yeah.” Nicky nodded, going to the kettle. “So, what happened?”

“Just... grew up. It's that teenager thing. You don't know who you are or what you want, and everything's pissing you off and nobody understands, and all that crap. Didn't help that I was away from home at fifteen, all this responsibility I didn't know how to deal with. Plus the sexuality thing. I had a great girlfriend, everything was perfect, and nobody got it, right? That I was kicking my hardest and couldn't get my head above water to breathe.”

“Yeah,” Mark said softly. When Nicky turned around he was looking at his shoes.

“Alright?”

“Yeah.” Mark looked up, a smile darting across frowning lips. “No, I guess I just know what you mean. Like, I went straight out of highschool and then we're having to cut our hair and dress a certain way, and there's all this money I don't know what to do with, but it feels like I'm earning it by being told what to do. Or like... who to be.”

“Who's that?”

“I don't know. But if you fuck it up, if you're not that, well you might as well go home. They'll find someone to replace you.”

“As if they could replace you,” Nicky scoffed.

“Maybe not now, but at the beginning, yeah. We only auditioned because we were replacing other people. I had to tell three of my best friends to go home, and it could have just as easily have been me.”

“But it wasn't. They kept you.”

“They kept the version of me that worked,” Mark said. “So I just keep doing it.”

“And that's not you?”

“I don't know.” When he looked up there was something lost in his eyes. Nicky wanted to hug him. Wanted it badly. Instead he poured milk into the mugs, keeping Mark in the corner of his vision. “Erm...” Mark looked away. “Thanks for breakfast, yeah? I should probably be going.”

“Hang around if you want,” Nicky offered. “I've got no plans.”

“It's fine. I've got... things to...” He trailed off, already standing, hands absently collecting his keys and wallet from the coffee table. “Erm...”

“Thanks for coming, then,” Nicky said helplessly. Something was going wrong here, and he wasn't entirely sure what it was. “Do it again?”

“I'll... I'll text you.” What he got wasn't really a smile. Nicky didn't really smile back.

Mark left without another word.

Nicky stood in the kitchen, looking at two mugs of tea.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“This is fantastic, Marky.” Bryan grinned, clapping his shoulder. “You want to go over it again?”

“Yeah.” It was good. They'd been tinkering with it for hours, just a simple little track he and Bryan had started playing with on the road, then forgotten all about. “It is good, isn't it?”

“It's definitely good.” Bryan leaned over to fiddle with the sliders. They were sat on the floor in Bryan's study, on either side of the portable mixing deck, the guitar plugged in and a couple of microphones set between them. “B-side, I reckon. We'll put it to the mucky-mucks once it's done.”

“You think they'll let us use it?”

“I reckon we'll just complain until they say yes,” Bryan chuckled. “And if they say it's not good enough, we'll remind them about Tunnel of Love.” Mark pulled a face. “Exactly. Right, here we go. I Won't Let You Down, vocal track, Mark Feehily, melody.” He winked. Mark smiled, holding the microphone closer to his lips.

“ _You don't know my mind, but you're on it all the time...”_ He trailed off. Bryan clapped.

“Brilliant!” He laughed. “Magic, mate. We've got a winner.”

“They'll probably get Shane to sing it.”

“Fuck Shane, this is ours.” Bryan unplugged the guitar and pushed himself to his feet. “Getting a beer. Want one?”

He did. Bryan wandered from the room. Mark hit play again, wanting to check it, make sure it sounded right.

He didn't know what to think of it. Wasn't sure whose song it sounded like, exactly, though there were definitely bits that made him shiver, and in a way he didn't know he liked. On his mind all the time. Though it wasn't like Nicky needed any help, or had a boyfriend that needed to be gone tomorrow. Nicky wasn't like that. He was independent, and cool, and...

Not that it was about Nicky. God no.

Mark half suspected it was about himself, actually.

Which was stupid. He was fine. And Nicky certainly wasn't thinking about him, nor did Mark need his help.

He yawned. Bryan came back in halfway through Mark covering his mouth.

“Big night?”

“No. Just couldn't sleep.” He had slept, at first. Had woken, shivering and fighting off someone who wasn't there, sure he couldn't breathe. Sure he couldn't...

He hadn't slept much, after that. Was sure he looked dreadful, bags under his eyes and pale skin. He'd thought about texting Nicky, and wasn't sure what that would achieve. It had been a week. A week since they'd had a really nice breakfast and Mark had ruined it by running away like an idiot.

He hoped Nicky didn't think he'd done something wrong. Thought maybe he should call and explain.

He didn't know how to explain.

“Thanks.” He took the bottle. Bryan nodded. “Bry?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you...” He swallowed. “Are you happy? Like... doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“The band. The...” He sighed. “I don't know. Sometimes I think maybe it's bigger than me, you know?”

“Yeah.” Bryan took a sip of his beer. “I get pissed off with it, sure.” He sank onto the floor, crossing his legs. “It's sort of like... it isn't real. Like, my kids are real, and my wife's real, and watching football and having a cuppa's real. Westlife's like...” He shrugged. “It's fake. All of it. Not you lads, but everything else.” He looked at Mark. “What are you thinking?”

“Don't know,” Mark admitted. “I don't hate it, or anything. I guess sometimes I just feel like...” He sighed. “This is going to sound weird, but it's almost like being an ice-cube in a tray, and someone's holding it upside down in the sun, and eventually I'm just going to like... pop free and go smashing on the ground.” Bryan was nodding in understanding. “That sounds mad.”

“It doesn't,” Bryan promised. “But the thing about ice-cubes is they just sit in their little square. If they don't fall out, they don't do anything at all.”

“I guess so.” Mark shrugged. “But once you're out you don't get back in.”

“Why would you want to? You're hanging out in a cocktail somewhere.” Bryan nudged him. “What are we talking about? I feel like this metaphor's gotten out of control.”

“Nothing. I don't know.” He bit his lip. “I don't know, Bryan. I've been doing this for five years, and part of me feels like it's all I am. Like, if it ends, what do I do? Who the hell am I?”

“You think it's going to end?”

“It has to eventually, doesn't it?” Bryan shrugged. “And you've got your family, and Shane's got Gillian, Kian's got a girlfriend and like... he'll be fine. He's always got a plan. But I don't...”

“You don't think you'll be fine?”

“I don't know. Yes. But like... I'm on my own you know? Not that I think I need a... a girlfriend to be happy, or anything.” It even felt awkward saying the word. Bryan raised an eyebrow.

“Something you want to talk about?”

“No.” A lump filled his throat. “I'm rambling. I'll shut up.”

“Mark...”

“You want to work on that other track?” Bryan wouldn't stop staring at him. “Let's work on the other track. I'm Missing Loving You, right? Let's do that.”

“Marky, if...”

“Let's do that,” Mark interrupted, reaching for the headphones. “We'd better do it quickly. Isn't Kerry home in a few hours?” He started to fiddle with the mixing deck. “Maybe we've got two B-sides on our hands, right? Good start.” He smiled. It hurt his face.

Bryan nodded slowly, putting on his own headphones.

 

*

 

“I understand that, ma'am, but...” Georgina paused, nodding politely when she started rambling again. Hadn't been shoplifting, definitely not, had just taken the packaging off the CDs and put them in her handbag so she could take them to the counter, hadn't realised it was against store policy. Her left eye kept twitching.

The manager didn't want to press charges, considering all the CDs had been recovered. They took her to the station anyway, took her details, and sent her on her way. She tottered off unhappily, on the way to wherever it was she was going next. Nicky headed back to his desk, Georgina following.

“Exciting morning,” Nicky commented.

“Better to be bored than the alternative,” Georgina pointed out. Nicky supposed it was true. It was morning shifts for the next three days, two until ten. They were about half an hour from knocking off, and Nicky was well and truly ready for a sleep. “Going on a date tonight.”

“Oh, really?” Nicky smirked. “Tell me more.”

“We both wanted the last croissant at the coffee place. He let me have it in exchange for my number.”

“Classy lad. Were you in uniform?”

“No. Haven't told him what I do yet. Always fun seeing how they react.” He knew what she meant. There was generally an awkward joke about handcuffs. “How about you? How's your... you know.” She glanced around them, as though someone really cared enough to listen in. “Your straight boy.”

“Don't know. We had a nice breakfast. He left. Haven't spoken since.”

“Why not?”

“Not sure,” he admitted. “It was going well, and suddenly he got weird and ran out on me.”

“You didn't kiss him again?”

“Definitely not,” Nicky laughed. “I made him pancakes, and we were just chatting. It was kind of nice.”

“I'm sure it was.”

“He said he'd text me.”

“Maybe he will.” She didn't really believe it. Nicky didn't either, suspected maybe it was time to get back on the horse and stop waiting for this particular pony to come trotting back. “There's always that marriage of convenience on the table.”

“You've got a man with a croissant to marry,” Nicky pointed out. She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should text him.”

“You've got it bad, don't you?” Nicky didn't deny it. “Good luck, then.”

“Thanks.” He checked his watch. “Want to file our paperwork and go home?” She nodded, pushing away from the desk. “Let me know when you're ready to go. I'll give you a lift.”

“Cheers.” She wandered away.

Nicky sighed, turning towards his computer.

 

*

 

_Match on tonight, thinking about getting beer_

_Did I leave my jacket at yours?_

_Think I saw someone being suspicious. Should I call you lot, or what?_

Mark deleted the message again, shaking his head. He didn't know what he thought he was doing, but he didn't know what to say. All he knew was he wanted to text, wanted Nicky to text back. Didn't know how to say anything that wasn't complete bullshit, some fabricated line to open up a fake conversation.

He didn't want that. Wanted to say something real. Wanted Nicky to say something back.

 _Come over. I want to see you_.

He deleted that one too. This was ridiculous. He hadn't spoken to Nicky in over a week.

_I want_

He didn't know how to finish that sentence. Just remembered lips on his, cheeky eyes and a nervous smile. Sinking into it for the barest moment before he'd caught himself and realised this wasn't him. That it couldn't be him.

He pulled his knees to his chest. Probably time for bed. It was late.

 

*

 

Nicky fished in his pocket, hand moving absently as his feet dragged themselves up the stairs to his flat. The sun was up, the birds were singing, and he was ready to sleep for at least twelve hours, was really hoping the text he'd just received wasn't someone asking him to do something or be somewhere. He didn't think he could cope.

_You there?_

He stared at it for a minute. It was Mark, he could see that from the caller ID, but the message didn't make any sense. Of course he was there. Where else would he be?

_What's up?_

_Nothing. Sorry._ The message felt like it had a blush in it. Nicky found himself smiling. _Didn't mean to wake you up_.

 _Just got home_. _Morning shift._

_OK. I'll leave you to it. Bye._

Nicky had barely read the message when the next one came through.

_So you're not busy tonight?_

Nicky pinned a goofy smile under his teeth, and began to text back.

 

*

 

_Start work at 2am. Could do dinner before then?_

Mark gnawed his lip, staring at the text. That would be fine. They could meet early, hang out for a while, and then Nicky could go to work. That made all sorts of sense.

Dinner, though. Food was one thing, but dinner was another. Dinner. With Nicky.

 _Come round if you want? I'll order in_.

That sounded better. Going out and having dinner was all too much like... well, like going to dinner. This was simple. He'd done the same thing with the other lads loads of times, ordered a curry and had a couple of beers. It was chilled. Friendly.

Nothing to read into at all.

Nicky said that sounded great and he'd come by around nine.

 

*

 

The house was no less imposing that the first time Nicky had been here, but at least he knew what to expect. He got to see the upstairs, this time. There was a balcony off the master bedroom, and they sat outside, looking over the back garden, the moon bright in the sky.

“This is beautiful,” Nicky said. Mark handed him a glass of Coke. Wine and beer had been offered, but he had to be at work in a few hours. Mark had nodded and poured himself a Coke as well. “It was good to hear from you.”

“Oh... yeah, well...” Mark wasn't making eye-contact, not completely. He was too busy fidgeting, messing with his chopsticks and twirling them around his noodles. “Figured you made me breakfast, I should pay you back with dinner.”

“Ah, but you had me over for a cuppa first,” Nicky pointed out. “That makes you one up, now. I'll have to have you back to mine for coffee to even things out.”

“Will you?” It was teasing, or at least trying to be. Nicky resisted the urge to touch Mark's hand. “I wrote a song with Bryan this week.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Thinking it should be like... a b-side? Like, it's not amazing, but it's quite good. You know.”

“Well if you think it's quite good, it's probably fantastic,” Nicky chuckled. “Can I listen to it?”

“It's not done.” Mark was hesitating, though, looked like he badly wanted to say yes. “I have this other thing, though, if you're interested. It's not anything, basically, it doesn't even have any lyrics. It's just kinda...” He gestured. “You know. It's an idea or whatever.”

“Sounds good.”

“You want to...?”

Nicky did. Mark ducked back inside, and a minute later he was back with a laptop and a pair of headphones. Nicky slid them on, putting his container of rice aside.

“It's really not a song yet. Don't expect...”

“Just play it,” Nicky laughed. Mark shrugged, and pressed a button.

It was good. Definitely not a song, not yet, but it wasn't at all what Nicky had expected. There was a hard beat behind it, electronic and sharp, the hint of a melody thudding over the top, and a vocal line that was just nonsense humming and singing, little la-la-las where he could tell words were going to go eventually. Mark really did have a fantastic voice.

“This is really good!” he said, then realised he was shouting when Mark laughed. “It's really good,” he said again, though he couldn't hear himself speak. It felt like it lifted you. Not something to dance to, just something to ride on, hands in the air and thumping along to your heartbeat.

When it was done he pulled off the headphones.

“That's fantastic.”

“Thanks.” Mark was blushing. “I've been doing a bit with the time off. And I haven't been sleeping well, so it's something to do instead.”

“No? Why not?”

“Just... haven't. Nightmares, sometimes, but mostly I just kind of lie there and can't nod off. It's really annoying.”

“Sounds like it.” There was something Mark wasn't saying. Nicky let their hands brush as he passed the headphones back, was sure he felt Mark's fingers curl into his for a moment. “What are your nightmares about?”

“It'll sound stupid.”

“I'm sure it won't.” He stood up, going to lean on the balcony. When Mark had put the laptop inside he came to stand next to him, elbows rested on the rail. Nicky nudged him gently, saw a shy smile.

“I erm... have this dream. About the thing at the airport?” Nicky nodded. He wasn't surprised. It had certainly been a weird day. “So, we're going through with security, and then I get separated. And I can't see anyone and I'm on my own. Which is kinda... what happened, I guess.”

“That's the whole dream?”

“No.” Mark sighed. “It's not always exactly the same. Except it is, in a way. Because I'm by myself and there are people on top of me, and they're getting heavier and I can't breathe, and I know I'm not going to get out. Sometimes they're grabbing at me, tearing pieces away, or sometimes they're all squashed up and it's dark and I can't see. Either way, I know I'm going to...” he trailed off. Nicky squeezed his shoulder, not sure how to comfort.

“Then what?”

“I wake up.” Mark kicked gently at the railing.

“You thought about talking to someone?”

“About what? They're just bad dreams. They'll go away eventually.”

“Still...” Nicky pursed his lips. It wasn't his place to pry, but that didn't sound right at all. “I had a couple of bad dreams about it, but if they've been going on all this time...”

“You did?” Nicky nodded. “What happened in yours?”

“Don't remember, really. I couldn't get to you, I remember that.”

“But you did get to me.” Blue eyes met with his properly for the first time all night. “You saved my life. If you hadn't...”

“I was just doing my job,” Nicky assured him. “I got you out, though. And a good thing too, otherwise I'd have nobody to buy me Chinese food.” Mark laughed at that, gaze darting away again. “Not that I expected any of this. I didn't even expect the gift basket. I was just glad you were okay.”

“I didn't send it,” Mark admitted quietly. “I mean, I asked our manager if he could send something, but I didn't know about the basket, not really.” Nicky nodded. He'd suspected as much. “I wish I had sent something. Or... thanked you in person. I was really scared and you weren't. You knew exactly what to do.”

“I promise I was shitting myself too.” He nudged Mark. “And you've thanked me about a thousand times since then.”

“I know.” A grin darted at his mouth. “Sorry.”

“It's fine. Just don't want it to go to my head. Might lose the run of meself, get too confident and think I'm a superhero or something.”

“What would your powers be, then?”

“What do you think they'd be?”

“Not sure.” Mark reached for his drink, took a sip. “I always thought I'd want something big and silly, like flight or super-strength or something. Now I think I'd want something else. Like, being able to turn invisible. Something like that.”

“So you could sneak into the change-rooms?”

“No,” Mark laughed. “Just so nobody could see me, if you know what I mean? Then I could sit on my own and nobody would bother me, or take photos, or write anything about it, and I could just figure things out in my own head without worrying about other people, and it wouldn't matter what I did because nobody would know.”

“I know the feeling.” Nicky nodded. “Opinions are like arseholes. Everyone's got one, and they all stink.” Mark laughed. “What are you trying to figure out?”

“I don't know.” Mark's shoulders sagged. “I don't know,” he murmured to himself. Nicky touched his shoulder, stroked his hand down a long back when Mark didn't push him away. “When you kissed me the other night...” He hesitated, mouth twisting into a frown. “Why did you do that? Did you think I was...?”

“I don't know what I thought,” Nicky admitted. He didn't. “It was a stupid thing to do.”

“Did you think I wanted you to?”

“I'm not sure.” His hand was still on the small of Mark's back. “Did you want me to?”

“I don't know,” Mark said softly. He sounded lost. Nicky stepped closer, moving his hand up to touch a soft cheek. He didn't know what this was, but Mark was turning into his touch and he wasn't sure which of them was inviting what. A pink tongue darted out to wet red lips. “I erm...”

“I won't tell anyone,” Nicky promised. “I can't, anyway, not with you using your super-powers.”

“They're just made up,” Mark said quietly. “It doesn't work like that. Not in real life.”

“What do you want?”

“I...” Mark swallowed, then pulled away, stepping back on the balcony. “It doesn't matter.”

“Of course it does.”

“It really doesn't.” Dark eyebrows pinched together. “The band matters. What I want... it's for later. If I worry about what I want I'm letting everyone else down, and I can't.” He looked so sure of it Nicky wanted to cry. “I shouldn't be doing this, anyway, having people over I don't really know. You could be press, for all I know. Or... or looking for a story, or money, or...”

“Do you really think that?” Nicky was shocked. “Does that happen often?” Mark looked away. “I'm not. I promise I'm not.”

“I know,” Mark whispered. Nicky bit his lip, wanting to pull him into a hug.

“Can I have a super-power?” he asked. Mark looked up.

“Sorry?”

“Well, you get to be invisible, right?” Nicky smiled. “So, what if my super-power is that if you want me to see you, I can see you, even if nobody else is allowed to. That way you can stay invisible, but you don't have to be by yourself.” He touched Mark's shoulder. “You can be my invisible friend.”

“We're friends, are we?” Mark's voice was almost teasing, frightened underneath it. “Why do you want to be friends with me? We don't know each other.”

“Not yet. But I've still got half a honey pork left, and I don't have to go anywhere for like three more hours.” He smiled. “Bet you've got some good video games, fancy place like this.”

“Might do.” A cheeky grin flitted at Mark's mouth. “Got the new football game.”

“You know me too well.” Nicky nudged him, laughing. “See? Friends already.”

“Yeah.” Mark was definitely smiling now, bashful and blushing, but definitely smiling. “I'm going to thrash you, you know.”

“Like to see you try.” Nicky winked, scooping up his carton of takeaway as he headed for the balcony door.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Cheat!” Nicky squawked, throwing down the controller. Mark couldn't stop laughing. Over the last few weeks he'd realised that Nicky was painfully competitive. They'd just about exhausted the football game, had switched over to a racing one last night, when Nicky had swung by before heading out to work after midnight. Today Nicky had some time off, didn't have to be back in until the next night, so Mark had packed up the console and come over to hang out, plugging it into Nicky's slightly rickety television.

“I didn't cheat.”

“The game's broken then.”

“I'm sure that's it,” Mark teased. Nicky was pouting. It was very cute. “Beat you. Fair and square.”

Don't know about fair,” Nicky grumbled. He picked up the controller again. “That was a warm up one. Doesn't count.”

“Does it only count if you win?”

“Why do you think I never lose?” Nicky stood up. “More snacks?”

“Oh...” Mark shook his head. “Probably enough for one day. I've got photoshoots next week.”

“Back to work?”

“Yeah.” They were. Back to doing first recordings for the new album, organising the publicity. He'd been getting demos the last couple of weeks, had listened to most of them, enjoyed some of them. There were a couple he knew Shane really wanted, a Garth Brooks song he had a thing for and wanted to cover. Kian was liking a lot of the stuff the Swedish guys were putting out. Bryan kept pushing for rockier, more dancy stuff.

“What sort of photoshoots?”

“Album cover.” He looked up as Nicky reached over the back of the sofa to press a beer into his hand. “We'll have to finalise the first single soon too.”

“What's the single?”

“Well, it's not bloody Mandy.” Mark stuck his tongue out. Simon had announced that one, and they'd all argued it down fairly quickly. Bryan had looked like he was about to throw a chair.

“The Barry Manilow one?” Nicky looked interested now. “That's my mam's favourite song.”

“She can keep it.” He took a sip of his beer. “We're just really over doing covers. We've been around for five years, we've done our Greatest Hits, we want to do something fun, you know? Like, I love a ballad, don't get me wrong, but we're not crooning for the oldies yet.”

“What about some of that stuff you've been working on? That's pretty cool.”

“Maybe.” Mark looked away. “I brought it up, but they've written all the songs already. They're good songs, too, but...” He shrugged.

“You don't get any say at all?”

“Sort of. They let us pick which ones we want.”

“Out of the songs you weren't allowed to write?”

“Yeah,” Mark mumbled. Nicky was already rolling his eyes, and for a moment Mark felt the urge to argue, to tell him it wasn't like that, that it wasn't like they were being told what to do, not in the way it sounded. He couldn't make the words come out properly, took a sip of his beer instead. “Simon said we could write the b-sides, if we want. Bryan and I have a couple already.”

“That's something.” There was an odd lilt to Nicky's voice, like he wanted to be sarcastic but was trying not to. He sank down beside Mark, holding out his beer. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” The bottles clinked together. “Another game?”

“If you want.” Nicky took a long swallow, then put the beer down on the table to pick up the controller. His lips were wet. Mark watched him lick them absently, a pointed tongue darting out. His own mouth was suddenly dry. “You okay?” Nicky was looking at him curiously. Mark realised he'd been staring.

“I'm okay.” He forced himself to look away. “I'll let you win, this time.”

“You won't need to,” Nicky said confidently. It was gorgeous, eyes sparkling competitively, arse wiggling a little in his seat as he geared himself up. “You're going down.”

Mark laughed and picked up the controller.

“Bring it on.”

 

*

 

Nicky washed his hands slowly, peering at himself in the mirror. It was late, and he was a bit drunk. Mark was as well, though not in any conspicuous way, just in the way where he was a little more talkative, laughed too long at jokes that weren't that funny. The console had been put away an hour or so ago when they'd both had to admit that their hand-eye coordination wasn't up to it.

He was having a good night. Had had quite a few of them over the last few weeks. He'd lost count of exactly how many times they'd seen each other, but Mark certainly wasn't wearing out his welcome. It was good, having a friend who could come over at any time, whose door was always open. With Nicky's schedule he was always having to cancel things, always having to say he was busy. He didn't feel that with Mark. Felt like, whenever he wanted to see him, Mark would be there.

It probably wouldn't be an ongoing thing. Mark was on a break at the moment, was going to be back into the boyband juggernaut soon, probably off round the world and working mad hours as well, but for now this felt comfortable. Like they were slowly feeling each other out, and everything Nicky was discovering was perfectly alright by him.

He hoped Mark felt the same way.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Mark was yawning and flicking through channels. Nicky slumped down beside him.

“Anything good on?”

“Shite.” Mark yawned again. “Mm.”

“You're not getting tired? It's still early.”

“Nope.” Mark crossed his arms obstinately. “Very awake.”

“I can tell,” Nicky chuckled. Mark winked back. The awkwardness was starting to fall away, now. Where Mark had been blushing and shy when they'd first met, he was beginning to show a cheeky, funny side that was painfully adorable. He was easy to be around, the defences slowly dropping, though his sexuality had remained very much off the table as a conversation topic. He didn't talk about the band much, either, though Nicky suspected that was a defence mechanism, learned after years of dodging press and keeping rumours at bay.

Either way, he didn't mind. He didn't really want to bring it up, himself. Partly because he didn't want Mark to think he was interested in the fame thing, and partly because Mark was more than interesting enough on his own.

His phone beeped. He groaned, reaching for it, wondering who it was at this time of night. Work, maybe. Short-handed and needing someone to come in. It was happening more and more lately. He peered at the screen.

“Who's that?”

“Erm...” Nicky laughed in surprise when he recognised the name. “Lad I went out with a few months ago.” He smirked, reading over the text. “He's wondering if I'm free Saturday.”

“Oh.” Mark shifted, his legs curling up between them on the sofa. “Are you?”

“Don't know. He was nice enough, but there wasn't any spark, not really. I'd just about forgotten about him.” He tried to decide, figured he was probably too tipsy to give this enough thought. “I'm not working, so I guess I'm available.” He hesitated, looking up at Mark. “Unless you wanted to do video game night?”

“No. God,” Mark said quickly. “I mean, yes, but if you've got a date we can raincheck.” Nicky nodded, looking back at his phone.

“I'll think about it in the morning.” He tossed it back onto the coffee table. “It wasn't like he was the one, or anything.”

“How come?”

“Hmm?” Mark was looking at him nervously.

“Why wasn't he the one?” Mark asked.

“Just wasn't. Good guy, and we liked some of the same things, but there was no connection. He didn't make me laugh.”

“That's important?”

“Definitely.” Nicky winked. “Has to be cute, as well, but making me laugh, that's a big one. It has to be someone I'm happy to spend all my time around, you know? Where I can just talk about things, and hang out, and not talk, sometimes, if I need to. It felt a bit like we were both always looking for somewhere to put the conversation.”

“Oh.” Mark nodded slowly. “I guess I know what you mean. The last girl I went out with... she was nice and everything, but we ended up talking about the same movies over and over again because it was the only thing we had in common.”

“Who was that, then?”

“Just this dancer girl. Friend of Kian's last girlfriend, before they broke up.” He tapped his fingers on the remote. The channel was still on some crap black and white monster movie. Giant worms were attacking people.

“How long did you see her for?”

“Couple months. Probably would have ended it sooner, but Louis said I should give it a bit longer, seeing as there were already pictures of us in the papers. I felt kind of bad stringing her along.”

“I can imagine.” Nicky rolled his eyes. “What about the girl you were with before her?”

“Oh erm... she was okay too.”

“Just okay?”

“Just okay.” Mark shrugged. “I just haven't found the one yet, you know?”

“I do know,” Nicky sighed. “Well, mine's got to be out there somewhere. It definitely isn't this guy, though.” He picked his phone back up and tapped out a quick message letting the lad know he was sorry, but he wasn't interested, and good luck out there. “There we go.”

“What?”

“Gave him the boot,” Nicky explained. “You still want to do video game night on Saturday?”

“Sure.” Mark looked guiltily pleased. Nicky smiled at him. “You want to put on a DVD or anything? I can stay up a bit longer.”

“You pick.” Nicky gestured at the cabinet under the television. “I have maybe ten movies, though, so don't get excited.”

“This is fine, then.” Mark put down the remote. Some woman was screaming and trying to run from the terrifying giant worms. They looked like stuffed socks on fishing line.

He settled back to watch.

 

*

 

It was dark. Pitch black. Mark raised his hands in front of his face, wiggled his fingers, but he couldn't see them. Couldn't see anything but the darkness, draped over him like a cloak.

Someone bumped into him from behind. He went to apologise, moved away, felt someone collide with his side, warm and heavy.

A hand grabbed at his wrist. He yanked back. Felt another one grab at his ankle. At his shirt. At his throat.

“No...” He said it, but he couldn't hear his own voice. Said it louder, tried to protest, but there was nothing but the silence, and the dark, and fingers snatching at his clothes; bodies pressing up to him, walling him in, crowding him in until he was lifted, pushed down, stuck in the middle, a black hole of hands and darkness.

Fingernails bit into his leg. Into his arm. Into his eyes while he pleaded, trying to wriggle free.

They let go.

He fell, shrieking silently all the way down.

 

*

 

Nicky woke with a start, disoriented until he realised he was in his own living room. The TV was on, sending a pasty flicker across the dark. The movie had finished some time ago, he suspected, because they were halfway into an old Thunderbirds episode, marionettes drifting across the screen on jerking strings.

He groaned, scrubbing a hand across his face. The microwave clock said three in the morning. Mark was conked out on the other end of the sofa, curled into an awkward ball, hands tucked under his cheek. Nicky took a moment to look at him, long eyelashes shifting, red lips parted in sleep. He looked tired.

Nicky stood, switched the TV off, and then crouched down in front of him, thinking if Mark was going to stay the night Nicky would at least offer him the bed, or somewhere more comfortable than half the sofa.

“Mark,” he whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. “Hey. Wake up.”

Blue eyes shot open, one hand lifting with a frightened jerk. Nicky stared back, startled by wide, disoriented eyes that for a moment seemed almost panicked. Neither of them blinked. Mark's chest was moving hard. Nicky tried to smile. Mark lurched forward.

Lips forced over his in an awkward kiss.

His own stuttered in surprise, not having expected that at all, but Mark was clinging to him suddenly, arms around his shoulders and breath trembling against his mouth, and Nicky's arms moved without permission, up and clumsily around, one cradling underneath Mark's armpit, the other looping around his neck. Mark felt hot, shivering, lips not moving, just pressed to his like he was trying to smush them together.

“Erm...” Nicky pulled away, after what felt like an age. Mark blinked in confusion. Then his eyes cleared.

“I...” He was going red, still looked disoriented. “Sorry.”

“It's fine.” Nicky wasn't sure it was, but their arms were still wrapped around each other in something that was less a hug and more a grapple. “Were you having a nightmare?”

“Yeah.” Mark's voice cracked. Nicky felt his heart ache. “Sorry. I... I should go, shouldn't I?” His grip didn't loosen. Nicky bit his lip, if only to stop himself kissing Mark again. Mark licked his own lips. They were redder than ever, had felt as soft as they looked, even in that savage, confused moment. They parted.

Nicky leant in.

It was heaven. Soft and stammering, Mark's mouth moving for a moment like it wasn't sure of the mechanics. Then a full lower lip slipped between his, and Nicky was moaning, unable to help it, feeling a rush of heat when Mark moaned back, a gasping little noise of surprised pleasure.

This was a bad idea, probably.

He felt hesitant fingers curl into his hair.

He pulled back. Forced himself to. Their foreheads were still pressed together, noises squashed in the middle. Mark was breathing hard, eyes wide and questioning. Nicky swallowed.

“Oh,” he murmured. “Hey, there.”

“Hey.” Mark gulped down a breath. “Should go.”

Nicky was about to tell him to do just that, but he was cut off by Mark's mouth.

 

*

 

It was early morning when Mark slumped back in the door. The sun had just come up, a grey spill across the horizon, and he was wrecked. Felt tired and thin and overstretched in a way that was stark contrast to the humming roll of excitement in the pit of his stomach.

He wasn't sure what had happened, exactly. Had woken, terrified, and Nicky had been there. And Mark had known, in a moment, that Nicky would save him.

His lips were sore from kissing. They'd done it for what had felt a long time, Nicky knelt beside the sofa and wrapped around him, Mark trying to keep his eyes closed, not wanting to speak in case he ruined the moment, in case he realised what he was doing.

Nicky had tasted perfect. Felt perfect.

Mark had slipped out the door while Nicky had been in the bathroom. He'd wanted to say goodbye, had been sure if he saw Nicky again, dark eyes and bed-hair, he'd be staying forever.

This wasn't him. This couldn't be him.

A text beeped on his phone.

_You okay? Where'd you go?_

He ignored it.

His own bed was soft when he fell into it, familiar and safe, home territory. That wasn't nearly as comforting as he wanted it to be.

He switched off his phone and closed his eyes, waiting for exhaustion to pull him down.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Mark poked at his dinner, trying to find the energy to eat it.

Two weeks. Two weeks since that exhausted, panicked kiss. Kisses, plural. He wanted to think it had been a mistake. A moment, a drunken thing. Wanted to think Nicky had forced it, had taken advantage in a vulnerable breath between awake and asleep. That Mark hadn't kissed him back, hadn't clung to him like that, dragging him in.

He wanted to cry. Hadn't wanted to come down for food at all, except he hadn't done it last night either, or the night before that, and he knew the others had been getting curious. Kian had slipped into his room and woken him gently, asked what he was doing curled in bed at five in the afternoon.

Just jetlag, he'd said.

Kian had reminded him that Sweden was only one hour ahead of Ireland, with a disbelieving, slightly worried tone that suggested Mark should probably come to dinner, if only to assuage their concern.

So here he was, not really eating a plate of meat and veg.

“Good day today,” Shane commented.

“Yeah,” Kian agreed. Bryan nodded too. “Your vocal was amazing, mate. Nailed it.” Mark didn't reply for a moment, not really listening, and then realised that had been directed at him.

“Oh... thanks.” He nodded awkwardly. He wasn't in love with the song, When A Woman Loves A Man. It was fine and all, had been more Shane and Louis' choice than his. They'd gotten it down over the last couple of sessions, were going in to do Heal the next day, which he was more looking forward to. It was upbeat, and Kian had some great leads on it. He'd been singing it all week, looked made up to be doing solos. Mark was pleased for him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just... tired. Dunno.” He went back to poking his broccoli.

“Don't want to go out tonight, then? We were going to head into Stockholm, hit up that bar we went to last time.”

“Erm...” He was about to say no, but Bryan was really starting to look curious, and even Shane was studying him now. He wondered if they knew. If they could tell somehow. He could feel his cheeks going red under their scrutiny. “Sure. Yeah. I'll go have a nap or something first, be ready around eight.” He looked back at his plate. “Kian, drinks are on you.”

“Why me?”

“Because you skived off us last time when you left your wallet at the hotel,” Mark pointed out. It worked to divert attention, at least. “You got that bottle of expensive vodka with Shane's card, remember?”

“That was you?!” Shane exclaimed. “I was wondering where that money went, you twat! Thought I'd gotten too drunk and forgotten!”

“You said I could!” Kian argued, and that was that, attention diverted. Mark looked back at his plate, forcing a few mouthfuls into his mouth while they were distracted. He chewed quickly, swallowed. When he looked up Bryan was still looking sidelong at him.

“What?” he asked. Bryan shrugged.

“Nothing.”

Mark swallowed again, feeling it stick all the way down.

 

*

 

Nicky was fiddling with his pen. Didn't know what else to do really. It all felt so fucking pointless, all of a sudden. Had done, for the last two weeks. Normally if his private life was getting on his nerves he'd throw himself into work, block it all out, but he couldn't even do that, suddenly. Kept drifting, finding himself staring into space when he was supposed to be doing something productive. Georgina kept giving him sidelong glances.

“That's really annoying.”

“Sorry.” He stopped clicking the pen, shoved it guiltily into his pocket.

“You going to tell me what's wrong?”

“Nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to sigh. She'd really worry, then, and that sort of behaviour was all a bit swoony and ridiculous. He was better than that. It was just a boy, after all. “Just tired.”

“I know the feeling.” She snorted. It was just gone one in the morning, and they still had almost an hour left of work. The streets had been especially quiet tonight, though Wednesdays were never busy. “Coffee?”

“Go on.” She ducked into the convenience store, leaving him stood outside, watching a couple of lads leave the closest bar and head to the cab rank. It was all very orderly. Best thing, probably, but it didn't make for an interesting night. He yawned. She came back out and handed him a cup.

They walked back to the station in near silence. He'd thought about telling her what had happened, but since that weird discussion about Mark staying invisible he didn't really want to. Even if they hadn't spoken in two weeks, even if they never spoke again, he didn't want to betray Mark's trust like that. Maybe there was nothing between them, but it seemed to be the thing Mark was most fearful over, and doing that to him, to that sweet, frightened boy, was more than Nicky could bear.

He wasn't sure why he cared.

Why the thought of Mark smiling at him made his heart flip.

His flat was too quiet when he sidled back in. Mark had left the console there when he'd snuck out, and Nicky thought about making use of it, maybe playing a game. It felt wrong, though. Maybe some people couldn't bear to look at a photo of an ex. Apparently Nicky couldn't play FIFA without getting a lump in his throat.

Not that Mark was an ex.

He collapsed on the sofa instead, glanced at the screen of his phone. Nothing there. He didn't think he'd expected there to be.

His fingers hesitated over the buttons.

He tapped out a message, trying not to look too hard at the words as his fingers flew over the keypad.

 

_*_

 

The lights were blinking fast, a confusing strobe of colour and noise, the music a thrumming distraction tempered under the floorboards. Bryan had wandered off somewhere. Over near the dancefloor, Shane was talking to Kian, who was necking drinks so fast Mark suspected he'd have to guard his ears in case Kian got excited and tried to bite them off.

He wasn't sure if he felt his phone vibrate, not over the hum of the music. He pulled it out anyway, figuring it was something to do.

Nicky.

He didn't open it. Stared a long time, until the world shrunk down to the little square of white light in the darkness. When he blinked it was etched onto the backs of his eyes. His thumb hovered over the button.

_I don't know if we're friends any more but if you want to talk I'm always here – Nicky xo_

He didn't know what to do. Couldn't respond. Definitely not that. Not stuck on the other side of the sea, in a nightclub, the other lads just over there. He was about to put the phone away, when it vibrated in his hand. A second message popped up on the screen.

_BTW come get your Playstation or I'm deleting all your save files. Mwahaha._

Mark giggled. Couldn't help it. Covered his mouth against it, as though it could stop the smile spreading stupidly across his face.

He put his phone back in his pocket. Thought he'd probably respond later, when he could find the words.

 

*

 

Nicky sat for an hour after he sent the second text. He didn't know what he'd expected. Not a reply, though there wasn't much else to expect. He looked at the Playstation, knew he wouldn't do what he'd threatened. It belonged to Mark.

He wished he knew where Mark was. Thought about going over, but didn't want to go invading the guy's space. Wondered if maybe this was how stalkers got their start, with well-meant intentions and concern that gradually spiralled into obsession, to the point where Georgina would have to remove him from Mark's lawn, boombox over his head, hollering like an idiot fan that he wasn't one of those other people, that he wanted to understand, that...

The darkness closed in, one room after another, as he clicked off the lights and went to bed.

 

_*_

 

… _if you want to talk I'm always here_.

Mark stared at the little square of light. He knew he was supposed to turn off his phone on the plane, and he had while they'd been ascending, but he'd gone to the bathroom, pulled it out of his pocket so it wouldn't fall in the loo, and found himself waiting while the screen loaded up.

_I don't know if we're friends any more..._

That was the part that hurt. Probably justified. He'd run out, hadn't spoken to Nicky in weeks, but Nicky being his friend aside, Mark didn't want Nicky to think that he'd lost a friend of his own. Nicky was kind, and amazing, and Mark couldn't fathom the idea of hurting him.

Part of him wanted to know what kind of hurt it was. Whether Nicky was just missing hanging out, or if Nicky was missing...

Him.

He headed slowly back to his seat, hands finding the tops of the seats to steady his journey. When he got back to his seat he pulled the phone out again.

Same messages. He didn't know what he'd expected to change.

He put it away and stared out the window, at endless blue. And in the sparse clouds scudding past the windows he was sure, for a moment, that he could see Nicky smiling at him.

The window scraped down, blocking out the sunlight streaming into the cabin.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

 

*

 

The boy at the bar was flirting with him. It was pretty bloody obvious, though not necessarily a bad thing. Nicky smiled back, taking a little longer than necessary to pay for his beer. It was late, a rare night off, and his first thought had been to call Mark. That had been off the table, of course, so he'd come out, figured there was no use sitting around his flat and blankly staring at the television again.

“I get off in an hour.”

“Do ya now?” Nicky winked, saw a cheeky grin. “Might still be around.”

“Might ye?” The lad was cute, though the flirting was cut short when he had to turn to serve the next lad in line. Nicky took his pint and headed back to the dancefloor, wondering if it was poor form to dance with someone else while he waited, then figured they weren't getting married so there wasn't much point feeling guilty over it.

A couple of drinks later and nobody else had caught his eye. The bartender was hanging up his apron, and when Nicky sidled over he was getting an encouraging enough smile. A hand fell into his.

“Where you headed?”

“Mine?” Nicky suggested. It was reasonably close and he liked the idea of going to sleep once it was over. Maybe that was flippant, but this didn't mean anything, not unless they'd really got off on the wrong foot, and he did have to be at work the next morning. He didn't bother asking the lad's name. The lad didn't bother to give it. That was probably flippant too, but at least it appeared they were on the same page.

This was good for him, probably. A meaningless fuck, no names, no commitments, something silly and loose. He was still young, he wasn't tied down, there was no reason not to do this.

They climbed out of the cab at the other end already snogging furiously. He tasted good, felt good. Warm and hard and pressing against Nicky in a way that fit.

They made it up the stairs, eventually. A moan brushed his ear. Nicky fumbled for his keys as they headed down the hall. Stopped short when he realised there was a figure curled against the door, cap pulled low. Blue eyes looked up in surprise. Nicky stared.

“Hey. Erm...” Mark looked warily at the boy next to him, head still bent so the cap would hide his face. “Sorry. Bad time.”

“It's fine. Really.” Nicky glanced at the lad beside him.

“Threesome?” the lad suggested. Nicky shook his head, trying not to laugh at the sudden look of fright on Mark's face at the idea. “You want me to sod off?”

“Sorry.” Nicky fished in his pocket, handed the lad a twenty for a cab. “Family emergency thing. It's not you.”

“It's fine.” The lad pocketed the twenty. He looked a little put out, a bit disappointed, but he appeared to understand. They weren't engaged or anything. It was just a fuck. Nicky leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, saw Mark's eyes dart to it, then narrow slightly.

“Sorry.”

The boy shrugged, then trotted off, back down the stairs. Mark looked away.

“Hey.” Nicky felt helpless saying it. “So... it's been a while.”

“Yeah. Erm.” Mark took a deep breath, then forced himself to his feet, hands thrusting deep into his pockets like he was afraid what they might do without supervision. “It's late. I'm sorry.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Couple hours,” Mark mumbled. “Figured you were at work, so.”

“Night off.” They both shuffled their feet awkwardly. Mark wouldn't look at him. “Coming in? I'll put the kettle on.” Mark nodded slowly. Nicky reached for the doorhandle, fishing his keys back out.

Mark kissed him.

It was awkward. The cap jabbed Nicky's forehead, and he was turned away, so it was sort of sideways, lips pecking against his, parting for a moment, then retreating, like they'd done too much too soon and were backing out.

There was long silence.

“Right,” Nicky said finally. He stared at the keys in his hand. Could feel Mark next to him, blushing and almost vibrating with nerves. He didn't look at him. Knew he'd be on him in a moment if he looked.

He unlocked the door instead, pushing through.

A moment later Mark followed.

 

*

 

It was mortifying. Mark let himself follow Nicky into the flat, not entirely sure if he was welcome, not sure what else to do. He'd woken just after eleven, hands clawing at the sheets, tears streaming down his face, and ten minutes later had been in the car. Not thinking, not planning, just knowing he needed Nicky, that he needed to say sorry, and could they be friends again, because he missed Nicky like crazy and nobody else made the dreams okay. Slid through them and pulled him out, listened to him talk and told him he could be more than what they said he was allowed to be, that he was okay, just as he was.

He didn't know that he necessarily agreed, but he'd knocked on Nicky's door until he'd been satisfied he wasn't home, turned to head back to the car, and felt his legs give. Been sat beside Nicky's front door in an instant, sure he didn't have the energy to be anywhere else.

Then, a long time later, he'd heard laughter, and footsteps, and his heart had crumbled in his chest.

He supposed it made sense. Nicky was single. He went out with boys. There was no reason not to. It was stupid, a coiling spring of hope that had been tightening for weeks, months since he'd met Nicky, becoming a hard little knot in his stomach that had gotten heavier and heavier, weighted down with futility.

He couldn't do this. He wasn't this.

The roar of jealousy was unexpected. Angry and red, hurtling up his throat while he'd sat there and tried to look like he didn't care, lurching out of him while Nicky had been unlocking the door, into an awkward kiss that tasted like beer and someone else's mouth.

“What's going on?” Nicky asked. Mark looked up, realised he'd sat on the sofa some time ago, head in his hands while he tried to collect his thoughts. Nicky was crouched in front of him, looking worried.

“Sorry.”

“For what?” Mark shrugged helplessly. “You kiss me, you sneak out, I don't hear from you for three weeks, and suddenly you're at my front door trying to kiss me again. It's a bit bloody frustrating.” He touched Mark's knee, hand cupping over it. “Hug?”

“Yeah.” His voice cracked. Nicky's shoulder was strong. Arms wrapped around him, his own clinging embarrassingly tight, holding to Nicky like an anchor. A kiss brushed his hair.

“Something you want to tell me?”

“I can't.” The panic hardened in his throat like cement. Nicky nodded, though. Stroked his back and made a soft hum of understanding. “I can't take it back if I say it.”

“You don't have to say it, then.” Nicky squeezed him. Mark clung tighter. “Okay, crouching like this is buggering my knees.” He laughed gently, and Mark let go just enough for him to sit on the sofa. An arm wrapped comfortingly around his shoulders, strong enough to lean into. “Start small. Why are you here?”

“Because...” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I missed you.”

“And why did you leave last time?”

“Because I was scared,” Mark admitted. “It's why I left every time. Why I... pushed you away. I didn't want to...” He breathed out slowly. “You saved me. I have all these nightmares and I feel like I need you, and then I think maybe I'm just getting confused, but it's not just that. It's not.” He closed his eyes. “I want you.” The words had to be forced out. Nicky's hand tightened on his shoulder.

“I want you too,” Nicky murmured. Mark wasn't sure if the rush he felt then was delight or abject terror. “I don't want you to do anything you don't want to. I'm not here to make this okay, you know? You can't have a panic attack or run out on me every five minutes. We can just be friends, if that's what you're comfortable with. I like being friends with you.”

“Me too.” Mark looked up, finally, saw kind blue eyes with frustration hiding in their depths.

“Do you want to just stay friends?”

“No.” He bit his lip. “I don't know if I can do this, though. I don't...” He sighed, shoulders slumping as all the fight rushed out of him. “Can I kiss you again, please?”

“No.” Nicky stood up. “Not yet. Let's get you a cuppa and we'll play a game, alright? Just chill out. I'm a bit drunk and I don't think I'm in any state to...” He hesitated, looking down. Mark stared back, saw studying eyes flick over him. “I like you a lot.” His mouth curved into a grudging smile. Mark found himself smiling back. “I've never really gone slow with a boy before. Seems like a good time to start.”

“How slow?” He didn't want it slow, suddenly. Wanted everything, all at once. Wanted Nicky.

“As slow as you need.” Nicky squeezed his shoulder, then headed for the kitchen. “Get everything turned on, alright? Your save files are all there.”

“I thought you were going to delete them?”

“Thought about it. Then I figured I'd give it a bit longer.” He smiled over his shoulder. “Go on. I'll even let you win one.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Going slow with Mark was lovely. Nicky wasn't sure if they were together, not really, but they hung out until the early morning. Then the next night Mark popped around again, a new game in hand, and leaned in to carefully kiss Nicky on the cheek, blushing while he did. Nicky kissed him back, then took his hand, leading him over to the sofa.

He saw Mark on the television the next day, on a breakfast show while Nicky got ready for work. He was sat on a sofa with the other three, letting them all talk while he quietly waited to be asked a question. All made up, hair and wardrobe done, not quite like Mark at all but still completely beautiful, chewing his bottom lip slowly, eyes crinkling with laughter when Bryan said something mad, while Kian and Shane joked with the hosts.

Nicky couldn't stop smiling. Georgina asked him if he'd gotten off, and he said no, just that he'd met a nice boy and they were maybe going out. She ribbed him for a bit then let it go. He didn't mention Mark.

He texted him, though. Couldn't stop texting him. Got these sweet little messages back, nothing untoward, just joking comments and random questions. Their single was coming out soon, a cover of Barry Manilow's Mandy. Nicky wondered what had happened there, knew Mark hadn't been happy about that one at all, that he'd been certain about none of them wanting to do it. They seemed cheerful enough promoting it, but Nicky supposed that was part of the job, saying what they were supposed to. When he asked about it Mark just said maybe they'd been wrong, that the buzz had been solid and it had turned out okay in the studio. Nicky supposed that was their business.

His mam liked it, anyway. He bit his tongue when she mentioned it, wanted to tell her about how the boy with the gorgeous voice was completely lovely and liked him back. Wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

Mark was busy, a lot of the time. Two weeks later and they'd barely seen each other, not between their two jobs, Mark over in the UK and around Europe promoting the single. The song came on the radio when he was in the car, and Georgina laughed and turned it up. Nicky turned to the window to hide his smile.

It was a cool afternoon in September when he finally got a chance to spend time with Mark. The single release had settled a little bit, and he had a rare day off, had gotten a text to say Mark was free too. He ran out of the house so fast he almost forgot to put his shoes on first.

“Hey.” Nicky grinned. The door closed behind him, and he laughed when he was yanked into a kiss, fast and sudden.

“Missed you,” Mark murmured, when it broke. Nicky touched a soft cheek, feeling the prick of stubble trying to come through.

“Missed you too.” He meant to pull away, meant to give Mark some space, but arms were still around his waist and he couldn't find the energy to step back. “How was Europe?”

“Fine. Half the time I only see the plane and the hotel anyway.” Nicky shook his head. All over the world, and he didn't seem amazed at all. “I've seen all the best motorways.”

“Quality tourist attractions.”

“Yeah.” They still hadn't separated. Nicky kissed his cheek, felt a shuddering breath rush against his ear and realised Mark was turned on. That he was as well, heat thrumming under his skin. “I'm... gonna let go now.”

“Cool.” They slid apart. Mark was red, his eyes dark. Nicky resisted the urge to look down. “Saw you on the telly,” he managed, trying to move the attention away from how close they were stood.

“When?”

“Last night. Graham Norton.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Mark didn't look amazed by that either. “We filmed that a couple weeks ago.” He glanced around, laughing gently. “Erm... you want to come inside properly? Like, I don't mind standing in the hallway, but...”

“Definitely.” Nicky grinned, taking his hand. The living room was a bit messy, when they got in, Mark's laptop and a microphone and notepaper and pens scattered across the coffee table. “Been writing?”

“Little bit. Or... playing with some samples and stuff.”

“Anything I can hear?”

“Not yet.” Mark snapped the laptop shut, pushed the clutter aside. “Soon, maybe.” He gestured at the sofa. “Sit down, if you want. I'm just going to go to the bathroom.” He scuttled from the room, but Nicky didn't miss the blush, or the hunchy way he was trying to hide the bulge in his jeans. Nicky was sure he didn't have anything to be embarrassed about.

He settled on the sofa to wait.

 

*

 

“Three, four...”

“ _You said... this would never end... but I want you for more than just my friend...”_

Bryan was nodding, one hand cupping the headphones to his ear, the other dancing a baton in the air. Mark wet his lips between lines, trying to concentrate.

“Brilliant,” Bryan said, when they were done. “Where'd that come from, hey?” Mark shrugged awkwardly, glancing away. He'd scribbled it out during the two weeks he and Nicky had been out of contact, almost forgotten it until he'd found it in a jacket pocket. It felt a bit personal, not that relevant considering he and Nicky were more than friends now, but it had felt like a waste not doing anything with it at all.

“Dunno. Just came into my head one day.”

“B-side then?”

“We'll see what it's like when it's finished.” Mark leaned back against the sofa, getting a little more comfortable after being hunched over the microphone. He had to push Bryan's guitar away to manage it. Bryan heaved himself up onto the sofa as well. “Where's Kerry?”

“At her mam's.”

“She take the kids to visit?”

“Something like that.” Mark nodded. He had a feeling of what was going on, and wasn't going to pry. “Can I ask you something?” Mark shrugged. “Mandy, right? What the hell happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“We said we weren't going to do it.”

“Yeah.” Mark shrugged. “Dunno. Guess Simon was right, in the end. It went number one and everything. I heard they were going to put it up for Record of the Year.”

“We could have done that with our own song, though. And what happened to putting our foot down? Is that what we do, like? Say we're going to be in charge of ourselves, and then let Simon and Louis and everyone walk all over us anyway? Like...” He huffed, looking annoyed. “I've got twenty, thirty songs that are good enough to record, right? And I know you do too. You write some mad stuff. Maybe they wouldn't go number one because they're not safe choices, but wouldn't you rather release your own crap songs than someone else's?”

“He was right, though.”

“Fuck right. This is supposed to be music. It's supposed to be about art and honesty and shit, not being right and getting chart positions and all that garbage.”

“We're a boyband,” Mark pointed out. “We're not bloody... bloody Black Sabbath or The Sex Pistols or whatever.”

“I don't mean we have to go throwing TVs and pissing off balconies...” Bryan groaned. “How long do we do this for? And what's the _point_?” Mark didn't know that he had an answer for that, at least something that didn't mention his bank account. “You really don't mind? Fucking _Mandy_ , Mark.”

“I... I know.” He took a deep breath. “I don't want to rock the boat, though. Not right now. Maybe one day we can...”

“You don't want to be yourself, you mean?” Mark looked at his feet. Bryan's eyes were full of rage. “What are you afraid of?”

“I'm not afraid. I'm just...” Bryan was still staring at him. “It's the bigger picture. It doesn't always have to be about what I want right now.”

“What do you want right now?”

“I don't _know_ , Bryan. I just want everyone to fucking leave me alone and stop telling me what I'm supposed to be feeling and saying and doing all the fucking time. I'm not here to help you out with your agenda! I just wanted to write a song with my friend. Why can't I just do _that_?”

He'd stood up without meaning to, looked down when he realised he was on his feet.

“That's what I'm asking.”

“No, you're asking me if I want to throw everything in for some artistic fucking revolution or something. And then what? I lose everything because I had a point to make? Because I wanted to express myself? I can't...” He stepped away, shaking his head. “What do _you_ want?”

“I...” Bryan hesitated. He was still a bit red, but now he was looking unsure. “I don't know any more,” he sighed. “I don't...” There were tears standing in his eyes. “Sorry.”

“It's okay,” Mark said stiffly. Bryan was looking at his hands, folded between his bent knees. “I'm sorry too.”

“Yeah.” Bryan stood up to wrap him in a hug. Mark accepted it reluctantly. “It's falling apart,” he murmured. “I think I'm fucked, mate. I don't know what to do.”

Mark nodded, squeezing tighter.

“Anything I can do?”

“No.” Bryan pulled away. “Not really.” He looked down at the little mixing unit on the desk. “I've got this other song I've been playing with. You want to give me a hand with it?”

“Sure.” Mark clapped him quickly on the back, got a thin smile in return. “I have to head off in an hour or so. You be okay on your own?”

“I'll be okay. Cheers.” Bryan reached for his guitar. “We'd better hurry up, then.” He patted the seat beside him. “Come on.”

 

*

 

Mark thought he liked being at Nicky's place better than being at his own. It wasn't nearly as luxurious, small and a bit cramped, but he liked how normal it was, how not like the rest of his life. It felt almost like being back at the beginning again, living in a normal house with a normal life, before all the madness had happened. When he was at his own house he always had the feeling Nicky was looking around in awe, and he didn't want that. Didn't want to think for a second that Nicky was reminded of the rest of it, what Mark did instead of what he was.

“Can I get you anything?”

“I'm okay.” He looked up as kiss touched to his hair from behind. The radio was on in the kitchen, some indie station, and Nicky had just wandered back in from the bathroom. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Another kiss touched his lips. Nicky was careful around things like that, obviously not sure where Mark's boundaries were. Mark wasn't sure himself, but he did like kissing Nicky. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi.” Mark smirked, catching him in another kiss, this one slightly deeper. It had been hard getting past the initial reluctance, but he supposed it was just Nicky, in Nicky's flat. Nobody needed to know. A hand mussed his hair playfully, making him laugh. “Come here.”

“Coming here.” Nicky wandered around the sofa, then collapsed across Mark's lap, arms wrapping around his neck. Another kiss pressed to his mouth. Mark deepened it, felt Nicky's chest hitch in response, a tongue curl against his, tasted him, breathing in the smell of aftershave.

They kissed like that for a little while, chaste, then deep, and back to chaste again. It was delicious, and Mark shifted awkwardly when he felt it affecting him more obviously than he'd meant it to. Nicky wriggled in his lap, which didn't really help things.

He climbed off after a bit and went to make tea. After a few minutes Mark realised his feet were bopping absently to a song on the radio.

“What's this?”

“Oh, er...” Nicky turned to listen. He'd been bopping a little too, dancing slightly on the balls of his feet while he poured the milk. “They've been playing this a bit. Irish band. Relish.”

“It's good.”

“Yeah, I like it. Rainbow Zephyr.” He hesitated. “What's a zephyr? It sounds like a gemstone. Or maybe a kind of lizard.”

“Think it's like a wind or something.”

“I'll just do what I usually do when I don't know the words and change 'em,” Nicky decided. Mark laughed. “You don't do that?”

“Might do,” he admitted. “We called Flying Without Wings 'Frying Chicken Wings' for a bit.”

“Ah, that's brilliant.” Nicky brought back the mugs. “That's what I'm calling it, now.”

“Go ahead.” Mark took his. Too hot. He put it down on the coffee table. “Shane never knows the words to any of the songs. He just makes them up, and as long as they're in tune hardly anybody notices. It's dreadful.”

“Professional, then?”

“Exactly.” He watched Nicky sip his tea. “What would you change the Zephyr to, then?”

“Erm...” Nicky tilted his head, listening. “Dayglo Leather...” Mark pulled a face, shaking his head. “Hey Whatever,” he said finally. The track was almost over. “Heeeey, whatever, let your beauty come alive, let your colour fill the sky. See? Makes way more sense. Piss off all your crap and be yourself. Hey, whatever.”

“Hey, whatever,” Mark agreed. Nicky was giving him a fond smile. He did that a lot. It was a nice smile, one that swelled in Mark's stomach and made him forget about everything else for a moment, a bright glow of affection. “I like you,” he said quietly. Nicky put down his mug.

“Works out well.” He reached out an arm. Mark slid into it. “You want to pick a movie? We can pretend to watch it while I feel you up.”

“You can try,” Mark teased. Nicky winked. Mark felt himself blush. He'd been worried when Nicky had said things like that before, but now he knew it was just Nicky, that he wouldn't do anything Mark wasn't comfortable with. “I erm... I'm not sure what I'm ready for here. Sorry.”

“It's fine.” Nicky kissed his forehead. Mark relaxed into it, sighing.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Just... you know. Being cool with me. I erm...” He looked up, saw that fond smile again, the one that made him go a bit weak. “Are you my boyfriend? Is that... is that what I call you?”

“You can if you like.” The smile got broader. “Who are you going to call me that to?”

“Just myself,” Mark admitted. It helped to label it, a bit. Made it worse, at the same time. Made him think of other labels he wasn't comfortable with yet.

“I wouldn't say 'just' about yourself.” Nicky stroked a hand affectionately through his hair. “But sure. If you want.” Their noses nuzzled carefully together. Mark almost melted with happiness, heard Nicky laugh when he sagged. “So cute.” A kiss pecked the tip of his nose.

“I like you,” Mark murmured again. Nicky drew him into a hug.

“I like you too.”

 

*

 

The song was on again. Nicky turned up the radio slightly, smiling when he heard Mark let out a soft laugh behind him. It had been on a lot. Nicky suspected it had rather become their song, a shared joke between them, both of them belting 'Hey Whatever' over the real lyrics, giving each other knowing smirks. A stupid joke, maybe, but theirs. Dimples appeared in Mark's cheeks when he was singing it. That was Nicky's favourite part.

“What do you want to do tonight?”

“What do you mean?” Mark's voice was closer than he'd expected. Arms wrapped around Nicky's waist from behind. Mark was getting bolder, more likely to initiate touches. It was comforting, knowing Nicky wasn't pushing him or overstepping, that Mark was coming to him on his own.

“Dunno. Just... we always sit around in front of the telly. Do you want to go to the cinema or get some food or something?” Nicky squeezed the hand settled on his stomach. He was starting to get a bit of cabin fever, if he was honest with himself. It felt like he was always at work, or always here with Mark. Which certainly wasn't a bad thing, but...

“Erm...” A chin landed on his shoulder. “Like, out in public?”

“Well, I didn't say we were going to fuck on the St Stephen's Green fountain,” Nicky teased, heard a shy grunt of laughter. “It's cool. It was just an idea.” He turned in Mark's arms, pecking a kiss to a wrinkling nose. “You're off to god knows where next week, I can go out for a pint with my mates then.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's fine. It's a bit of a unique situation.” Mark nodded gratefully, though he did look sorry. Frightened, as well, which Nicky couldn't abide. “One month anniversary next week.”

“Really?” Mark smiled properly at that. “I'm sorry. I'll be in...” He hesitated, looked like he was trying to read a schedule in his mind's eye. “Belfast, I think.”

“It's cool.” He kissed Mark's nose again. “Mm.”

“Mm.” Mark tilted his head, and they were kissing properly. Nicky hummed happily, felt Mark's breath rush out and into his mouth, feeding him. His leg hitched up, back arching when they collided with the kitchen counter. “Fuck,” he heard Mark mutter as he broke away and began to mouth clumsy kisses up Nicky's neck. Nicky groaned, arching again. If they didn't do something soon he was going to go mad. Mark was...

“So sexy,” he breathed. Mark made a soft whimper into his throat.

“I want you.” It rumbled into his neck. “I didn't know I could want anyone this much.” Nicky felt tears spring to his eyes. Stupid, maybe, but suddenly he wanted to cling to Mark and not let go.

“Sleep over with me,” Nicky murmured. Mark hesitated, mouth still open on the hinge of his jaw. “Not like that,” he said quickly, when he felt the tense of the man against him. “Not if you don't want. Just sleep.” He kissed Mark's ear, moaned when the kisses started to dot down his neck again. “Stay with me.”

“Want to.” Hot breath, speeding up against Nicky's skin. “Can't.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Can't,” Mark sighed. “Got an early meeting. Kian's picking me up from mine at six so we can drive in together.” He pulled away, eyes apologetic. “I want to. I erm...” He blushed prettily. So fucking prettily. Nicky wanted to melt into him. “I'm really sorry.”

“Don't be.” Nicky kissed him soundly. “I start work at ten, so I should probably sleep anyway.” His fingers ran up a stubbly cheek. “I'll be home at seven or so tomorrow night.”

“I'll be on a plane.” Mark bit his lip. Nicky raised an eyebrow. This was news to him. “We're doing a performance on a variety show in Denmark, and a spread for a magazine. Just got word this morning.”

“They really do drag you around, don't they?” Mark shrugged.

“It's part of the job. I don't really get to schedule.”

“Apparently not.” Nicky sighed. Mark was looking nervous, like he thought he was going to be shouted at.

“I'm really sorry.”

“Don't be. Honestly.” Nicky pulled him into a hug. “It's funny. When you're in the guard they always talk about how shift work's going to be mental with having relationships and a family. I never expected to be on the other end of it.”

“I never expected most of this,” Mark chuckled. Nicky squeezed him tighter, then let go, patting his arse affectionately while they separated. “I'll be back on Wednesday.”

“Working all night. Come over in the day if you want.”

“Have a recording session with Bryan. We booked studio time.” Mark crossed his arms sulkily. It was adorable.

“Aw, it's not fair,” Nicky teased. Mark pouted harder.

“Not fair. Mine.”

“Apparently.” He poked Mark gently on the nose. “Come on. The counter's cutting into my back.” He sidled away, brushing Mark's hand as he did. Fingers groped at his, clinging, and Nicky let his own curl into them for a moment before heading back to the sofa. “It's okay. Come over when you get back and I'll order a takeaway. Or I can come to yours if it's easier.”

“I like it better here.” Mark sank down beside him. Nicky reached an arm out, felt the heavy shape of him edge sideways, leaning into his chest, twisted so Nicky could drape his hand down over the front of Mark's t-shirt, fingers tugging absently at the fabric. He was warm, smelled really good, and Nicky buried his face in dark hair with a grunt, nuzzling until Mark laughed and pushed him away.

“Why here? It's not very impressive.”

“It's fine. It feels like... normal.”

“Oh, because I'm skint? You slumming it?”

“No. God...” Mark laughed, though his cheeks were going apple-red. “You're not skint, are you?” He looked suddenly concerned. “Because I can...”

“Don't you dare,” Nicky said quickly. Mark looked torn. It was sweet, though there was something rankling in the base of Nicky's spine. He wasn't rolling in it of course, but he didn't want Mark thinking he was a pauper or anything like that. Though he supposed compared to Mark he was practically struggling.

“I didn't mean...”

“Don't mean, then,” Nicky interrupted. “It's just bloody money. Leave it.”

“I...” Mark was chewing his lip. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Nicky sighed.

“It's fine.” He mussed Mark's hair, trying to at least elicit a smile. A little one darted across Mark's mouth. “No money talk, okay? It's not...” Mark pressed into the kiss Nicky touched to his forehead. “I'm fine. You're fine. We do different jobs, and I don't want to know how much you make because I'm fairly certain I'll have a small stroke if you tell me.” Mark harrumphed a laugh, but didn't deny it. “And I'm not going to tell you how much I make, because then you'll think I can't feed myself.” Mark looked concerned again. “I can feed myself,” Nicky assured him. He tickled Mark's side, felt him flinch. Nicky dug in harder, heard him squawk and try to wriggle away. He let go, smiling. “So cute.”

“Yeah?” Hopeful.

“Yeah.” Nicky kissed his hair.

“I... guess I could stay a little later,” Mark conceded. “Maybe just until midnight so I can get some sleep?”

“Before you turn into a pumpkin,” Nicky agreed. “Only if you want to.”

“I do. I...” He leaned up, pressing a soft, open kiss to Nicky's mouth. Nicky moaned into it, surprise giving way to heat when a tongue darted out to tease his, then slid deep for half a moment. He curled his fingers into Mark's hair, keeping it connected when he felt it pull away. By the time it finally broke he was breathless, dragged in the current of Mark's taste. A nose nudged shyly at his.

“A bit longer,” Nicky croaked. Mark nodded, breathing against his skin.

 


	11. Chapter 11

“What you wearing, then?”

“Fuck off,” Mark laughed, leaning back against the headboard. It had been a manic week. He'd kissed Nicky goodbye, stumbled back to his car, and then it had been planes and studios and recording and all sorts. They'd seen each other briefly, when Mark had popped by on the way to the airport two afternoons before, knocked urgently on the door, and been relieved when Nicky had sleepily pulled it open, then grunted in surprise when Mark had slammed it behind him, pinned him to the wall, and kissed him hard, until Nicky had been laughing so much Mark couldn't help but giggle too, face aflame and hands still on Nicky's hips.

Then he'd said sorry, he was off to the airport, but happy anniversary for Friday.

Nicky had given him a kiss for luck and said he'd be missed, then swatted him on the arse when Mark had let himself back out.

He couldn't stop thinking about that swat. That kiss. Nicky's laughter, and smell, and the hands curling into his hair when they'd finally finished flailing in shock.

He'd been grinning the whole plane trip. Kian had asked if he was broken.

Mark couldn't, in all fairness, say that he wasn't. It was a nice kind of broken, though. Less like damage and more like... give. Like chipping away at a wall just enough to see the sunlight on the other side.

And now he was getting fucking soppy.

“Working tonight?”

“Just about to start, actually. Should be off by ten tonight.” Nicky yawned. “Knackered.”

“You should have gotten more sleep last night.”

“I would have, but some twat kept texting me.” The smile in his voice found its way onto Mark's face. “Day off tomorrow, so I'll crash out for about twenty hours when I get home.”

“I'll leave you alone, then.”

“Don't you dare.” Nicky laughed. “Aren't you busy or something? Aren't you doing boyband things?”

“Just finished. Radio all day, and then we've got this telly thing tonight. I'm just hanging out in my hotel room.”

“Right, so while I'm getting ready to keep the streets of Dublin safe, you're sitting on your arse in the Belfast Hilton?”

“It's the Merchant, actually.”

“Ooh, sorry.”

“I miss you,” Mark sighed. There was a soft, content hum in his ear. It wrapped around his heart, trickled into his veins. He held the phone closer to his ear, wanting to feel Nicky through it somehow.

“Miss you too.”

Mark said goodbye. Could hear Nicky banging out of the house, keys jangling and the sound of the street rushing up around him. By the time they were finished saying goodbye, Nicky had plugged in the hands-free and was halfway down the motorway.

“Bye,” Nicky murmured, finally. Mark said it back.

He flopped back onto the sheets, arms hooking the pillow behind his head and pulling it up around his face to drown out the enormous grin stretching his cheeks.

 

*

 

“You're going _where_?”

“Belfast. Just for the night,” Nicky added. Georgina was looking at him in askance, like there was no possible reason anyone would want to spend a night in Belfast.

“You're going to Belfast.” Nicky shrugged. They parted slightly while a woman edged between them. Football matches were always interesting. Either they'd be perfectly civil, or people would be set off at the drop of a pin and it'd turn into bedlam. Nicky wasn't expecting this to be too bad. Just a friendly, and there were no hard grudges between the two teams. There were horses on the outskirts, and a couple of armoured patrolling, but mostly people looked too busy juggling plastic cups of beer and trying to find their seat numbers to start trouble.

“Why?”

“Felt like a night away.” He'd decided, when he'd been talking to Mark. It would be nice. A surprise. He'd find the hotel, give him a call when he was outside and casually sneak up to Mark's room. A bit mad, maybe, but he was increasingly finding that Mark made him feel like that. It was the teenaged thrill again, chaste and earnest, and he liked the fluttery excitement of it. Of seeing Mark smile at him.

“In Belfast.”

“In Belfast,” he chuckled. She was still looking at him suspiciously. “Okay, fine. There's a lad.”

“Well, that makes more sense.” A shoulder nudged him too hard while she rolled her eyes. “Lives there, does he? Or is it a dirty weekend?”

“Neither. He's there on work, and I thought I'd surprise him.”

“Must be serious, if you're driving to Belfast for a surprise. Can't you wait til he gets back?”

“No.” He felt himself blush. “I suppose I could, but...”

“You don't want to.” Her smile was softening. “That's lovely. You like him, do you?”

“Yeah.” He scratched his arm, looking away.

“Must be good in bed, then.”

“Not sure,” he admitted. She raised an eyebrow. “We haven't. We're taking things slow.” Fuck, if he swelled up any more with happiness he'd go floating off over the crowd like a balloon.

“How long...?”

“A month.” He bit his lip. “Month tomorrow,” he mumbled. An arm wrapped around his shoulders. He was about to say something about professionalism, and putting up a tough front for the public, but lost the words when she kissed his cheek.

“Happy for you,” she said. “Suppose it makes more sense than trying to shag a boyband. He's good to you, I hope?” He smiled stupidly at the ground.

“Yeah.” The breath he was holding shuddered out. “Well. Let's not talk about, right? I don't want to jinx it.” She clapped him gently on the shoulder.

“Up to you.”

“Cheers.” His phone buzzed in his pocket. He resisted the urge to look at it. “See if there's any trouble near the snack bar?”

“Sure.” She pulled ahead, smiling over her shoulder. “Come on, lovebird. I'll buy you an ice-cream.”

 

*

 

The next day was a long one. Radio interviews all day, a couple of pre-taped television performances. They were starting to do pre-promotion for the album, previewing a couple of tracks, though there seemed to be the most buzz around Obvious, which he knew was getting traction for the second single. They had a break for an early dinner, and were back in the car again for a performance on a live variety show. He plugged in his headphones on the ride, tried to chill out, but with the others talking and laughing around him it was hard to relax.

He looked up when he felt a kick at his shin. Bryan was waving at him. He tugged his left earbud out.

“What are you singing there?”

“Oh, er...” He looked down at the screen of his iPod. Rainbow Zephyr. He'd downloaded it the week before, had taken to listening to it when he was missing Nicky. “It's this song a friend was playing me.”

“Hey Whatever?”

“No. Well... we changed the lyrics a bit,” Mark admitted. He'd been singing along without noticing, apparently.

“It's cool. How's the rest of it go?”

“Erm...” He passed over the headphones, felt almost wrong about doing it, like he was sharing something that belonged to he and Nicky. Bryan plugged one in his own ear, offered the other one to Shane, who took it. They looked ridiculous, strung together by the thin white cord. A second later they were tapping their feet, Shane nodding his head.

“What is it?”

“It's cool. Check it out.” Bryan passed his end over. Kian looked at the used plug distastefully, wiped it on his sleeve, then bent in close enough to lift it to his ear.

“I dig the guitar line,” he conceded. His fingers began to pick it out, lips pursed in thought. “Where'd you find that one?”

“It was just on one of the independent stations. A friend was playing it. I thought it was cool.”

“I like it.” Kian tapped his knee, finding the drumbeat, then went back to picking the guitar line over an imaginary fret. “Hey Whatever, is it?” He snorted in approval. “Can you email me the file?” Mark conceded that he probably could. “Know who owns the rights?”

“Not sure. Why?”

“Could be a fun cover. Something different from bloody Mandy.” He pulled the plug from his ear, handed it back to Mark. Shane did the same. The car was slowing, anyway. Mark tucked the iPod in his pocket, was about to pull his hand away when his phone buzzed right next to it. He pulled that out instead, trying to look at it as the door was pulled open.

_Happy anniversary xoxo_

He tapped a quick reply, then shoved the phone away, suddenly quite able to fix a smile to his face when he climbed out to the flashing dazzle of photographers lining the street.

 

*

 

The Belfast Merchant was ridiculously beautiful. It looked like a museum, from the outside, or a gallery. Nicky didn't feel right about walking through the front door, like someone was about to escort him back out again for being a beggar. It was definitely the right place. There were fans lurking outside, giggling away and leaned around the corner, looking hawkishly at every car that went past.

He'd dressed nicely at a convenience store bathroom down the street, hadn't wanted to wrinkle his clothes but hadn't wanted to show up in a tracksuit either. The drive had been slowed by some bad traffic near Newry, and it was almost ten at night, though the fans didn't look at all tired, were chatting happily and clutching CDs and posters. Nicky sidled over.

“What are you lot waiting for?” he asked, trying to look clueless, though it was a bit of a giveaway when they were all wearing Westlife t-shirts. One of them had a home-made one that said 'I love Mark' on the front. Nicky could empathise.

“Westlife are here,” one of them said breathlessly.

“What, in the hotel?”

“No,” she gulped. “I mean, they were, but they're coming back later. We're waiting.”

“Oh. Right.” Not here, apparently. He'd texted Mark happy anniversary earlier, gotten a reply saying he was about to go on the telly and couldn't talk. That had been a few hours before. “When's that?”

“My friend's at the studio. She said they left ten minutes ago. They were doing autographs and everything.” She ran out of air, sucked in a deep breath, and was off again. “Are you a fan?”

“No, just wondered what the commotion was,” he chuckled. She deflated slightly. “Well, have fun. Hope you get your signatures and that.” He waved and headed across the street to his car, settling behind the wheel to wait. Fifteen minutes later there was a babbling squeal, and he saw them run. A black car was pulling up, large van, turning down into the parking garage. Some of them darted down after it. Others waited at the top of the drive, obviously unsure, wringing their hands and talking earnestly. Then two broke away from the pack and ran down into the garage. The rest were hot on their heels, shouting indignantly.

Nicky laughed to himself. He'd give it five minutes maybe.

Ten minutes later he saw a gaggle of them emerge from the mouth of the parking garage, hugging and clutching their CDs again. He waited until they disappeared, then climbed out, crossing carefully until he could climb the front steps.

It was even more beautiful inside. Quiet in the foyer, a bit late for check-ins, but the bar was busy, the restaurant even more so. The bar seemed like a good choice so he went and ordered a drink to settle his excitement and pulled out his phone, tapping a message.

_Had a weird night. Want to hear about it?_

His phone rang a moment later.

“Hello,” Mark said. Nicky melted. Leaned on one elbow, lifting his drink with his other hand. “Thought you'd be asleep.”

“Was too awake,” Nicky sighed, trying to sound pathetic. “Sorry, I haven't woken you?”

“No, was just getting ready for bed.” His voice was warm. Nicky felt it wrap around him. “Are you out somewhere? I can hear people.”

“Yeah, thought I'd come out for a couple of hours. Have a drink.” He took a sip of his vodka tonic. “Not as nice as your place, probably. Hanging out on the thirtieth floor of some fancy joint.”

“Hardly,” Mark chuckled. “It's only the fourth floor.”

“Slumming it,” Nicky teased. He drained the rest of his drink, began heading for the lifts. “You on your own, then?”

“All by myself.” Mark smiled. “Why?”

“Just checking you don't have another boy on your room.” The laugh he got in reply was gorgeous, surprised and loud, like Mark couldn't believe anyone'd even suggest that.

“No other boy, no. I think security'd stop them at the lifts.” Nicky hesitated. Fuck.

“What, do they patrol the halls or something?”

“Not really. Paul and the lads do rounds, though. You sort of have to, with all the mental fans. Two made it as far as Bryan's bedroom once. He opened the door and there were these naked girls on his bed. It was hilarous. He hid in my room until they went away.” Nicky laughed along when Mark did, stomach twisting anxiously now. “Think there's a couple of security downstairs in the lobby. There usually are.”

“Oh.” Shit. He considered, for half a moment, whipping out the badge to get past, but there was no way to do that without making a scene. Maybe this had been a stupid idea. He'd meant to make it surreptitious, but he didn't want to drop Mark in it.

He was halfway back across the bar, hand fumbling for his car keys, when he heard his name.

“Nicky?”

He froze. Turned. A hundred explanations on his tongue. Bryan raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing here?”

“Erm...” Shit. Shit. Shit fuckity fuck. “Bryan? What are you doing here?”

“What?” Mark said. Nicky cursed himself. Phone still to his ear. Fuck.

“Erm... I'll have to call you back.” He hung up while Mark was in mid-sentence. Bryan was looking him up and down, studying slowly. Nicky tried to smile. Bryan rolled his eyes.

“Oh, for fuck's sake.” An arm reached out, wrapping around him in something like a companionable hug. Nicky felt it crush all the breath out of him. “Let me have a fucking guess.”

 

*

 

Mark didn't know what to think. Nicky had sounded panicky, he'd heard a voice, heard Nicky say what he was almost certain had been 'Bryan', and then the call had cut out.

He hit redial, heart pounding.

It rang.

_Hi, this is Nicky, if you could leave a-_

“Shit,” he breathed to himself. “Shit shit shit.” Climbed off the bed, flooded with sudden nervous energy. Began to pace. Blood, roaring in his ears. He hit redial again.

_Hi, this is Ni-_

“Fuck.” He began to tap out a message. Sent it. What's going on. Where are you. Call me back. It sent, zooming out into whatever empty air there was between here and Nicky. “Fuck, fuck.” He sat down again. Stared at the screen. Stood again, chewing on his lip. “Fuck.”

He was very much considering running all the way back to Dublin when there was a rap on the door.

“Busy!” His voice was too shrill, and he winced. Fuck it. Let them think he was wanking or something. They always joked about it anyway, with his long stretch of singledom.

“Mark?” Bryan sounded slightly panicked. Mark hesitated. “Mate, could you...?” Shit, it was something up, wasn't it? He sidled towards the door and peered through the peephole. Bryan was there, looking earnestly back. “Seriously, it's important.”

He cracked open the door. Bryan pulled him into a hug. He stiffened in surprise.

“What's, erm...”

“Sit down.” Bryan urged. “Fucking important.” He pulled the door closed behind him, then went over to the inside door, the one locked, but connecting their two rooms. He unlocked it. “I fucked up, lad. Tried to sneak someone into the hotel, then I almost got caught, and...”

“You tried to...” Mark blinked, trying to make sense of it. The door opened. Bryan reached out, yanking on someone's arm.

“Then I just told him to come to my room instead.”

Nicky smiled sheepishly at him. Mark felt his heart skitter to a stop.

“Hi. Sorry.” He scratched his neck. He looked beautiful, styled hair and a crisp blue shirt with black trousers. Like he was on a date. Mark's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Bryan caught me in the bar. It was supposed to be a surprise.” Impossibly apologetic. Mark wasn't sure whether to be angry or not. Bryan was beaming between both of them.

“Leave you to it.” He stepped through the door, into his own room, and slammed it behind him. The lock clicked shut.

Nicky looked up from a bent neck, hunched shoulders. Mark stared.

“Er... hey.”

“Hey,” Mark said numbly. “Er.”

“Yeah.” Nicky bit his lip. “Happy anniversary?”

 

*

 

Mark didn't look happy to see him at all.

Nicky wasn't sure quite what had happened. Bryan had hugged him, then pulled away, charging towards the stairs. Nicky had followed. Partly because he was surprised, and partly because his wrist had been caught firmly between strong fingers, towing him along. They'd banged into the fire-escape, Bryan laughing over his shoulder.

“Mark know you're here?”

Nicky had admitted that no, he didn't, in fact. That it was meant as a surprise. Bryan had rolled his eyes and not looked at all thrown by that information. Had pushed open the fire-escape door, whispered 'all clear', and tugged Nicky down the hall and into a room, grinning the whole way.

It had been beautiful, that room. This one was just as amazing. Small sitting and dining area, decked out in lush reds and purples, the bed so soft it was probably terrible for your back. Mark was sat on the edge of it, staring in surprise.

“I'm sorry,” Nicky said quietly. Mark was chewing his lip. “I didn't mean him to see me. I just...” He felt himself sag, looked down at intense blue eyes. “I can go.”

“Does...” Mark breathed out slowly. “He knows, then?”

“I didn't say anything.” Nicky hesitated. Swallowed down the anxious lump in his throat. “He erm... I think he already knew, to be honest. I was just walking back outside and he sort of grabbed me.” A laugh tumbled over his lips, nervous. Mark was still staring, like a rabbit in a spotlight. “Can...” He exhaled, heard it tremble. “Sorry.”

“ _I don't give a shit who you're fucking!”_ They both flinched at the sound of Bryan's voice. The door was still closed, but it echoed through the wall. Nicky smirked, saw Mark run a hand over his face, indecision cutting a kaleidoscope across his features.

“Sorry,” Nicky said again. “Can I sit down?”

“Yeah.” Mark patted the bed. It looked like someone else was controlling his hand. Nicky collapsed beside him. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Nicky agreed. “This was a bad idea.”

“No,” Mark said quickly. “I mean, yes, but I appreciate...” His eyes were soft when he looked at Nicky. “Fuck, I missed you.”

“Missed you too.” Nicky touched his cheek. The responding nuzzle was grudging, but honest. Nicky kissed his forehead. “So beautiful,” he whispered. Mark's mouth curved into a smile. Nicky held him tighter. “This room is insane, by the way.”

“It's fine.” Mark looked up. “No Playstation.”

“Bet it's got at least five channels, though,” Nicky teased. Mark laughed.

“You just want me for the telly.”

“Obviously.” Nicky kissed him again, tracing his mouth across pinched brows, down a long nose. Mark felt like he was relaxing, sinking into Nicky's touch while he fluttered kisses over pink cheeks and down a strong jaw, then up to peck at a soft mouth. Nicky felt it cling to his, hungry and wanting.

“Oh,” Nicky muttered. He was being consumed, then. Open mouth, searching tongue. He let Mark in with a groan. Felt hands close on his sides.

“Fuck,” Mark whispered. He was breathing hard. Nicky gulped. Pulled away. Felt a tongue slide down his neck, sucking mouth on his collarbones.

“How many channels did you say you have?”

Mark's laugh rumbled against his throat.

 

*

 

Nicky tasted perfect. Clean. Stubble pricked at his tongue, the slight smell of sweat filling his lungs. They'd fallen back onto the bed at some point, Mark on top. It was still nothing untoward, snogging and the occasional discreet grope, slow kisses getting more breathless as Nicky's hips gave irregular jerks, darting up against him.

He let his hand pet it's way down a long, rolling side. Heart pounding. Needed to distract himself, and Nicky was certainly a distraction, made him forget for a moment that Bryan...

Nicky made a soft whine, hips twisting up again. Mark groaned, on his elbows and knees above him, sure if he dropped down he'd be lost the instant they pressed together.

“Fuck.” Nicky gulped. His hands had travelled down Mark's back, were hovering hesitantly at the bottom of his t-shirt, occasionally brushing at the skin below it, but not taking any liberties. Mark wasn't sure if he wanted them to. “Do you...”

“I...” He let his hips drop. The barest nudge. Electric spark, scraping, twinging clench; like a fist in his belly, blooming out to yank him in tight from the inside. He closed his eyes, trying to control himself. Nicky's hips lifted when he moved away, chasing him. He ground down again, a little more intently this time, heard a growl in his ear.

When Mark looked up Nicky was flushed, eyes half-closed, lips shiny and bitten and swollen, parted while quick breaths escaped him. He could smell sex. The hot swell of it. Wasn't sure which one of them it was, only knew he was painfully hard. Nicky exhaled slowly, body shuddering beneath him as it was let out. A hand cupped his too-warm cheek, fingers tracing his temple.

“So.” Nicky's voice sounded too deep. Mark bit his lip, felt it tug at him. Closed his eyes and kissed into the soft crease between shoulder and neck, trying to ground himself. The hand on his temple slid around, through his hair then down the back of his neck to squeeze. “So erm.” Mark heaved, without meaning to. Sudden sob that came out of nowhere. Arms wrapped tight around him, pulling him close. Pressed flush together, Nicky beating a pulse against him while he felt himsel swell and tighten against Nicky's leg. Kisses drifted through his hair.

“Sorry.” He exhaled until he was under control again. Nicky, thank god, didn't ask if he was okay.

“What do you want?” he asked instead. Mark looked up. “I don't want to do the wrong thing here.” Mark nodded helplessly, felt a kind smile press to his cheek. “If you want to make out for a bit we can do that, or...”

“I don't...” He moved up slightly to relieve the pressure, felt Nicky flinch. “What did you think you were going to get when you came here?”

“I didn't think, honestly.” Apologetic smile. “Just... wanted to see you mostly. Anything else...” He pecked the tip of Mark's nose. “Is it really fucking soppy if I say I just want to see you all the time?”

“No.” His lips felt swollen from kissing. He dug his teeth into the bottom one, trying to think, relishing the slight ache of pressure when he did. “No,” he breathed, more to himself than Nicky. “Can I erm...” He resisted the urge to look down. “Can I have a second to calm down?”

“Sure. Of course.” Nicky was already scuttling back, looking earnest. “Yeah. If you want to go to the bathroom, it's...”

“No,” Mark said quickly. “No. Erm... I'm not actually sure I'm done using it yet.” Nicky laughed, and eyes darted down, going suddenly hungry. Mark swallowed. It stuck in his throat.

He looked down at himself. Clothes askew, though he tried to adjust them a bit when he climbed off the bed, mostly to shift the erection he was sporting into a less conspicuous spot. Nicky looked beautiful, draped back on the bed, his own bulge a swollen line from groin to hip, hard and full under black trousers. Skin soft and smooth at the bottom of his shirt where a button had popped open. Mark licked his lips. Saw Nicky lick his own reply.

“I'm just...” He gestured. “Going to put on my pyjamas. Get... into bed?” Nicky nodded slowly. “Do you have...?”

“I can sleep in my boxers.” It was a croak. Fuck. Mark felt himself twitch. “If you have a t-shirt I can wear one, if that's...”

“Boxers... boxers are fine. Er...” He backed away. Nicky was biting his lip, chest moving deliberately slowly, swelling underneath a twisted shirt.

Mark fled for the bathroom.

 

*

 

When Mark came out he looked considerably calmed down. He'd been in there a while, in fairness, so Nicky had taken the opportunity to strip down, fold his clothes neatly onto the dresser, and climb onto a mattress so soft he almost fell over trying to crawl across it. Sank his head back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling, trying to will his own erection away from hair-trigger.

The door creaked open. Footsteps crossed the floor, lightning quick, and by the time Nicky was able to manouevre his head up enough to look, Mark was sliding in alongside him, almost shivering with nerves.

“Come here,” Nicky urged. A dark head landed on his shoulder, an arm looping hesitantly around his waist. Fingers stroked at the bare skin on his hip. Experimental, not quite exploring. When he looked down Mark's eyes were closed. A thigh shifted to hook his. “How's Belfast been, anyway? I only got to see the hotel bit.”

“Fine.” The hand on his hip stilled, like it had been caught. “We were here a lot, in the early days. Performed in the shopping centre down the road once.”

“Really?” Nicky chuckled. “What, like Tiffany?”

“ _I think we're alone now,_ ” Mark sang softly. They both smirked. “Yeah, a bit. It was a weird time. Like, we were famous, but not that famous. People knew who the band was, but not who _we_ were, if you know what I mean. I could still get a pint without anyone recognising me.”

“Do you miss that?”

“Sometimes, yeah. When it gets a bit full on, or whatever. I never thought I'd say it, but sometimes I'd just like to go do groceries.”

“It's not all it's cracked up to be, I promise.” Nicky mussed his hair. “Do you know the bloody price of bananas these days? And there's always some woman in front of you with three kids and a trolley, blocking the whole aisle and walking at a snail's pace. Fucking frustrating.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Mark sighed theatrically. Nicky poked him, laughing. “No, but you know what I mean.” He hesitated. “I don't mean it to sound like you're boring, because you're not, but... you make me feel normal.”

“You not normal,” Nicky argued. “You're interesting and funny and talented and I like being around you. That's not normal.” Mark looked up.

“You forgot rich and famous.”

“No, I didn't. That's the most boring thing about you.” He poked Mark again, saw a shy smile. “Fucking hell, rabbiting on about your job. As if I care about your day.” He squeezed Mark gently. “What I did forget was 'fucking sexy'.”

“You wanted to do this, though,” Mark pointed out. “You auditioned and everything.”

“I was nineteen and didn't know what I wanted to do. Doesn't everyone want to be famous at that age?”

“So you wouldn't want to do it?”

“I'd like the money,” Nicky allowed. “And I'm sure it'd be exciting, travelling all over and being on the telly and that. Plus I'd get to see you all the time.” Mark nuzzled into his throat. “Would you want to do it? Knowing everything you know now?”

“I don't know.” Mark looked up. “Yes. Parts of it. No to other parts.” He chewed his lip, eyes thoughtful. “Why are we talking about work? I thought it was boring?”

“What would you like to talk about?” Mark shrugged. “Can I ask how the nightmares are going? Are you sleeping alright?”

“Better.” Mark nodded. “Sometimes if I've had a big day I have one, but not as much any more.” He breathed out slowly. Blushed. “Feel like it's better, knowing you're there. Like, even if we're not together, I know I can call you. That we can talk. That makes it better.”

“I'm glad.” Nicky wasn't sure if that was healthy, but it was enough for now. They settled into silence, Mark rested against him, Nicky absently running fingers through his hair, down his back. Petting him slowly, like a big cat. Mark purred occasionally, too, stretching alongside him. Nicky felt himself drift, not sure if this was how he'd seen things going when he'd shown up, not minding at all. He was almost asleep when Mark spoke softly.

“I've um... I've never slept with a man before.”

Nicky didn't open his eyes. Jolted groggily from the doze. Mark was breathing slowly against his ribs, but his heart was fast, fluttering. Nicky didn't reply. There was nothing really to say. He scratched the back of Mark's neck instead, a playful tickle, or as much as he could muster up half-asleep.

“I kissed one once. When I was sixteen? Or... he kissed me, sort of, and then I panicked and pretended I had to be somewhere else.” Nicky chuckled at that. It sounded about right, considering those few months of awkward courting. “I've slept with a couple of girls. Mostly because it was expected. I didn't hate it, but it didn't feel...” He sighed. “Think I just tried to rush it, so I wouldn't lose...” He nuzzled into Nicky's throat. “Which apparently isn't a problem with you.” A self-conscious chuckle breathed against his skin.

“I'll take that as a compliment.” Mark made a soft hum of agreement. “I don't mind, love. Really.” The next hum was disbelief. “I was with my girlfriend for years before I came out. I know what it's like, pretending to yourself. To them. Feeling fucking shitty afterwards because you led them along, because you were so wrapped up trying not to hurt them you let them be in a relationship with someone who...” He trailed off, feeling suddenly ashamed. It wasn't a new feeling, reared up every now and then, when Georgina was being especially kind. Especially forgiving.

“Did you love her?”

“Yeah. Still do. She's amazing.” He kissed Mark's forehead. “It's not the same as wanting someone, though. I want you,” he added quickly, before Mark could ask.

“I want you too.” Mark kissed his shoulder. “Nobody can ever find out,” he said quietly. “They can't.”

“Bryan doesn't mind.”

“Bryan's... Bryan.” A nervous smile twisted against his skin. “I can't.”

“I know.” His hair was soft between Nicky's fingers, cheek warm on his neck. “You can't live like this forever, though, can you? Hiding all the time? One day you'll have to.”

“Not yet.” He sounded frightened. Nicky felt his heart clench, stretch towards the touch of this sweet, confused boy. “Please not yet.”

“No,” Nicky agreed. “Not yet.” He opened his eyes, stroked dark hair back from a creased forehead, tilted him back until blue eyes could lock with his, shining with worry. “We don't have to do anything you don't want,” he promised. “When you're ready. Believe me, I won't say no.” He winked, saw a shy grin, almost cheeky at the edges.

“It's probably going to be really disappointing.”

“What are you saying? You think I'm disappointing?” Mark went red, made a grunt of protest, mouth opening to argue. Nicky shut him up with a sound kiss on the mouth. “This isn't a performance,” Nicky assured him. “You don't have to get it right the first time.” He patted Mark's arse. “You don't have to prove anything. I already think you're perfect.”

“You're mad.”

“Definitely.” Fingers traced tentatively at his hip. “But it's better than being normal.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Nicky woke early. Four in the morning, apparently, still dark outside. It was getting into the year, early October. His birthday was in less than a week. He hadn't mentioned it to Mark, didn't want him getting flustered and thinking he had to do something, probably overthink it and buy something stupidly extravagant so they could both feel awkward and Nicky could feel guilty whenever he thought about the expense.

His mam was going to do dinner. He wanted to ask Mark. Knew Mark would say no, and then would feel guilty about it. Then they'd both be miserable and sullen and he didn't want that, not for either of them.

Mark was asleep beside him, heavy and close. He was gorgeous asleep. Long eyelashes, cheeks that seemed to get a little chubby when he was relaxed, hair a mess on the pillow. A parted mouth. Nicky traced a hand up his ribs, felt the slow pull of him breathing, alive against his skin.

He closed his eyes and settled back to sleep.

 

*

 

Mark woke early. The alarm clock said just before five, when he craned his neck to look at it with bleary eyes, a steady red glow over Nicky's shoulder. Nicky was asleep, still. Completely beautiful. He smelled like warmth, like comfort, breathing against Mark's side, one arm still hooked carelessly around his waist while he sprawled on his back, the other hand wedged under the pillow, one leg tangled with Mark's.

The duvet was pushed down. Mark chanced a glance, not sure if this counted a voyeurism or not. Nicky hadn't seemed to mind having his shirt off, though, and he supposed if he minded Mark looking he'd have covered up. That idea rationalised, he looked down, letting his gaze skate over a smooth chest, narrow waist. He was strong, looked like he worked out, though not big. Wiry definition, planes and angles. Quiet strength. Pale pink nipples flat in sleep, smooth skin dusted with sparse, almost invisible gingery hair.

He let his finger trace over them, prickling against his skin. Down the hard shield of his sternum, to a flat stomach that twitched slightly under his touch. Thicker hair that scratched around his fingertip as he drifted below Nicky's navel, palm flattening to feel the soft curve of bone above the elastic of black boxer-briefs.

Nicky shifted. Mark was about to pull his hand away, heard a soft grunt above him, and then a hand was closing over his, pressing it back to where it had been. When he looked up Nicky was blinking at him through slitted eyes, lashes webbed with sleep.

“Morning,” he croaked. Mark felt his cheeks blaze.

“Sorry.”

“What for?” Nicky yawned, twisted to look at the clock. “Time you have to go?”

“Not until ten.” Mark looked back down. Nicky's hand was still covering his, but as he watched it lifted away to cover another yawn. Mark kept his where it was.

“Touch if you want.”

“Yeah,” Mark breathed, feeling his heart speed up. “Can...” He lifted his head, meant to ask, but was stopped by a slow kiss, sour from sleep. Fingers slid through his hair, traced around his ear, making him shiver. The morning erection he was sporting was suddenly very apparent. Nicky smiled as they parted, hand tracing down his back, though his t-shirt.

He sank into another kiss. Easier this way. Not watching. Just feeling, eyes closed while his hand slid back up, the hollow of Nicky's belly dipping under his palm, their breaths speeding up in time. Nicky's mouth caught him, less sleepy and more urgent, and he moaned into it, thumb finding a metronome stroke below the curve of his chest, fingers splaying across ribs. Breathing. Alive. Coaxing him into kiss after kiss while Mark explored, hand spreading up until his thumb could brush a peaked nipple that budded into his touch.

“Really nice,” Nicky murmured. Mark swallowed. Felt that tone touch him. Hot at the idea of making Nicky feel good. Making him respond. A jolt of guilt. For leading him on, maybe. For being what he was. Teeth bit into his lower lip and tugged playfully while he shivered, nerves and excitement vibrating him out of his skin.

“I want...” He gulped. “I...”

“Tell me,” Nicky whispered. “Show me.”

“I...” He shivered, felt heat tighten, tugging him taut, heavy between his thighs while he leaked into his boxers, not able to help it. Slick and sensitive, hips arching against Nicky's thigh. “Oh Jesus.” Pressure. Fuck. Nicky made a soft noise of encouragement against his ear. “Can't.”

“Want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” he blurted. All the reasons and insecurity aside, yes. He did. “Need you to.” He buried his face in a soft throat that corded into the hungry suck he had to press there. Something to cling onto. “Just um.” Whimpered. Christ. Embarrassing. Nicky's hand slid between them. “Fuck.”

“Sh-sh-shh.” Another kiss caught him. He whined into it. “Breathe, love. Slow.” He tried. Lightheaded, gulping down lungfuls that didn't seem to be enough. Legs shifting, panicked. “Oh Jesus, that's beautiful.”

“Sorry.”

“S'fine.” Couldn't remember feeling this turned on. This desperate. Had wanted to feel this way, once upon a time. Tried his fucking best and it had never... never been like... “Get on top of me, yeah? Come on.” Mark did, every move torture. Like being flayed, stripped back. Balls full to bursting, head sticky and rubbing sensitive as gravity pulled him down into the fabric. A hand cupped over him. He almost lost it, tucking his chin down into his chest, trying to focus. Trying...

Hand, cupping his cheek. Into a kiss. Through his boxers and fuck, ah, fuck. Elbows buckling, knees shaking as Nicky palmed over him, rolling against his hand, not enough contact.

“Oh god.” Groaned while Nicky let out a laugh. “More.”

“More?” The hand shifted up, squeezed for a dizzying moment, and then tickled along his belly, lifting fabric. Careful. Under the elastic, fingertips brushing, tugging at hair. Smoothing it back down while Nicky breathed into his mouth, knee lifting slightly until there was pressure. He pushed back onto it, felt everything white out. Hand stroking around him, wrist brushing against him. Then closed. Tightened. Nicky made a soft sound of approval while Mark tried not to unravel, though his mind was certainly fraying at the edges, a confusion of heat and pleasure and self-consciousness. Thumb on the head of him, Nicky's knee moving while the grip tightened and slid _down_ , ribbon loose, then squeezed back up, spreading the slick of him. He cried out. Felt it get swallowed down.

“Can't,” he managed. Nicky hummed against his mouth. “Can't.”

“Breathe,” Nicky murmured again. “You are so fucking sexy, babe.” Mark shivered in disbelief. Bit a kiss into the corner of pouting lips, tried to tether himself. Nicky's spare hand fumbling, flipping open his wallet on the nightstand, and Mark saw him pinch out a small silvery packet. Condom. His stomach recoiled in terror, but when Nicky ripped the corner he realised it was lube, squeezing out onto his fingers.

“What. Um.”

“It's okay.” Hand, sliding between them, and Mark felt himself go suddenly, silently blank. Slippery grip, wrapping around him. Impossibly slick, fucking himself into it without meaning to while Nicky crooned encouragement against his mouth, left hand drawing free to curl around his chin, leaving tacky gel on his skin. Tugged into another kiss, sucking back, trying to get enough air to just...

Sudden tightness. Nicky's wrist, moving faster, fingers an expert roll around him, a creeping ladder that was guiding him up. His toes curled. One of Nicky's feet hooked with his, stroking back while his sole cramped painfully around it. Hard thigh wedged against him while he rutted, fucked into the circle of grip, slickened and moving fast. Crying out. Trying to stay silent. Head hurting with the pressure of it, a spiking throb at the base of his skull, tightening his throat in a way that felt almost like tears.

“Perfect,” Nicky muttered. He sounded hoarse, croaking against Mark's mouth. A hot rush of breath that shuddered against his cheek. “Come for me, love.” His own fingers, tightening helplessly on the back of Nicky's neck, other hand floating uslessly, clutching at sheets and the pillow while he tried to ground himself.

“Oh.” Eyes squeezed shut. Kisses peppering up his jaw. Turned away, needing somewhere to cry out. Hoarse squeak, almost falsetto, high with something like agony. Nicky hissed against his ear. Thigh nudging up. The other side of a painful rhythm. “Nicky.”

“Mark,” Nicky rasped. “There.” Other hand dropping. Mark left to cling while Nicky touched himself, breathing hard. “You feel...” Shuddering groan that sealed their mouths back together. “Don't stop. Please don't.” He arched, knee pressing suddenly hard.

Lost it. Sliding, clutching at anything he could reach to stay on, but it was too late. Everything giving way under him while Nicky dragged a breath in his ear and worked both of them, hands moving clumsy, too fast to get purchase, Mark's heart galloping in his chest.

Twist. Release. He whited. Dropped. Falling forever, dragged in the undertow of sparks. Collapsed into a pool of himself, twitching and heaving while Nicky coaxed soft noises against his ear. A soothing litany, almost a song.

Gulped in a breath. Wouldn't come. Picked up the next one and sucked it down, drinking from the air while he could. Nicky was laughing. He couldn't find the words.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He wasn't. It was the wrong spectrum, okay and not okay. Extraneous to the hot-cold shatter thrumming under his skin. Rolled away, needing space and air. Nicky let him go. When Mark looked he was propped up on one elbow, looking fondly down, sticky fingers stroking slow at the space between Mark's rucked-up t-shirt and ruined boxer shorts, tracing lines between the goosebumps prickling through him.

Still hard. Nicky was. Ignoring it while he tickled gently at Mark's hip, making him flinch and laugh, his voice sounding almost like a sob.

“Fuck.” He closed his eyes, trying to find something to cling to. Clung to Nicky instead, hand reaching blindly out until it could grope at soft skin. A hand cupped over it, squeezing gently. He laughed again.

“That wasn't disappointing at all, was it?” Nicky teased. Mark groaned. Nicky wiped at his chin, streaking away the lube that was starting to dry. It felt sticky, too tight on his skin, like hair-gel. A kiss brushed his mouth. He couldn't kiss back, felt too loose to manage it. “You want to go back to sleep?”

“Couldn't if I tried,” Mark managed. Nicky chuckled. “Happy anniversary?”

“And many more...” Nicky sang. Mark felt a flood of warmth, of sweet acceptance. Fingers teased through his hair. “I'm fucking starving, by the way. Who foots the bill on room service around here?”

“All the trimmings, charged to Sony BMG?”

“Perks,” Nicky agreed. Mark grinned at the ceiling. “Shower first?”

“Shower.” He looked over. Down. Nicky, swollen over the elastic of his boxer briefs, urgent and almost frightening. “It'll be easier to clean up.”

Nicky rolled towards the edge of the bed. Dropped his boxer-briefs as he went, kicking them awkwardly off one foot. Mark stared. Got a smile over a flushed shoulder. “Come on. You're a mess.”

Mark definitely was. The shower ran in the other room. He was yanking off his clothes before the hot water even kicked in.

 

*

 

“All clear.” Bryan peeked out the door. Nicky was stood beside him, trying not to look conspicious. Mark was wringing his hands nervously behind them. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” Nicky hefted his bag on his shoulder. Turned. Mark had a wistful look on his face that made Nicky want to shove him back into the other room and never leave. He pulled Mark into a hug, felt a shy kiss touch his neck, didn't miss that it was on the side Bryan couldn't see. What the point was, he wasn't sure. Bryan knew they weren't just friends. Would be pretty bloody stupid to have missed it. He kissed Mark's temple, felt a smile brush his skin.

“Bye,” Mark whispered.

“Bye.” Nicky pulled away. “Call me when you get back. I'll make time.”

“Definitely.” He was trying not to smile. It was beautiful, a grin squirming under a carefully straight mouth. “Bye.”

Nicky squeezed his hand, then headed for the door. Bryan rolled his eyes.

He was out and down the stairwell, feet pounding down concrete steps. Was just sliding into the car when he got a text.

 _Thanks,_ it said.

Nicky started the engine and headed for the motorway.

 

*

 

“So.” Bryan was smirking. Mark looked up from his phone. Nicky had sent a smiley face back, was probably already on the road. “Good night?”

“Yeah.” He stood, trying to move nonchalantly back to his room. Bryan's smirk followed. “Nice.”

“Right.” Sat down on the bed, like he bloody lived there. Mark tried to fabricate an excuse that he needed to change, needed to shower, something that deserved a modicum of privacy, but he was ready and packed. His suitcase was sat at the door, waiting to be picked up. It had had to be unpacked again when Nicky realised he was missing a sock, and they'd found it caught in one of Mark's jackets, accidentally scooped up when everything had been shoved in. “Wish I could say I was surprised.”

“Yeah, well,” he mumbled. Bryan reached out.

“Hug?”

He hesitated, then relented, letting his friend stand and wrap both arms around him. A hand clapped him on the shoulder.

“I don't care who you're fucking,” Bryan said. Mark felt himself flush, remembering when he'd last heard Bryan say that. “Your business. He seems a good sort anyway. How long's that been going on?”

“Only about a month.” He pulled out of the hug. Bryan was grinning, now. “We just kind of... I don't know. We get on. I just thought we were friends, but...” He bit his lip, wrapping his arms around himself. Bryan sat back down, leaned forward to rest his hands between his knees. Mark sank heavily beside him. “You can't tell the others.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can't...” His hands clenched into nervous fists. Blue eyes studied him carefully. “I can't, Bry. I'm not...” Swallowed hard, tears that sat in the back of his skull, a throbbing headache.

“You need to figure things out,” Bryan finished. Mark nodded, grateful. “Cool. That's fine, man. Do what you have to.” He laughed. “Next time you need help sneaking him in somewhere, let me know. It'll be grand. Like being a spy or something.”

“I'm glad this is fun for you,” Mark retorted. A hand clapped him on the back, making him jolt forward. He turned a glare on his friend. “Thanks.”

“It's cool.” Bryan stood. “Gotta get packed. You be okay?” Mark nodded. “Class. Good for you.” He sniffed. “Reeks of spunk in here, by the way. Good effort.” Mark groaned and buried his face in his hands.

The door creaked shut while he sat there, cradling his blazing cheeks.

A knock came five minutes later.

He headed down to the car, able to feel Bryan's smirk burning into the back of his neck.

 

*

 

The new single was brilliant. Nicky turned it up. Obvious. New album was due out in about a month, apparently, was more or less finalised. He'd bought the single for this one, heard the song Mark and Bryan had written. It was lovely. Couldn't stop listening to both of them, Obvious and You See Friends. Georgina had teased him, asked if he was turning into a die-hard fan. He'd shrugged it off. She'd asked about his new boyfriend. He'd shrugged that off as well.

He hadn't gotten to see Mark too much the last couple of weeks. He'd been busy, though Nicky had let slip about his birthday and he'd popped by the night before with a cake and a gift. Nicky had held his breath unwrapping it, had hoped it wasn't something too expensive, but it had been an iPod, loaded with a playlist of songs Mark said he'd been listening to a lot lately and wanted Nicky to have. The last one was Rainbow Zephyr, except it had been re-recorded by Westlife with Nicky's ridiculous made-up lyrics. He asked how Mark had managed that, and Mark had said they were all into it at the moment, had done a demo and were pitching it to the record company as an album track. He looked proud, saying it. Nicky was proud for him.

There was nowhere to park on Mark's street. He cruised slowly through traffic, looking for a space. Ended up having to park a block away. Knocked on the door when he finally made it over, got a welcoming smile in return. The door closed behind him.

Mark yanked him into a hard kiss.

“Well hello.” Nicky laughed when they parted. Mark was looking at him hungrily, though considering they hadn't seen each other in almost a week it wasn't a huge surprise. They'd not done much else, hadn't really had the time, but Mark was lovely in bed. Desperate and heady, breathing Nicky in, skin on skin and feeding off each other.

“I'm going to be polite and offer you a drink,” Mark announced.

“Should I decline and ask to see your bedroom instead?”

“Yes please.” Cheeky smile in sparkling eyes. He'd gotten braver. Maybe realised that it wasn't all such a big deal, that he could trust Nicky. Nicky was honoured, if that was the case. “I can pretend there's something up there I wanted to show you.”

“What do you mean pretend?” Nicky waggled his eyebrows. Mark kissed him. It sank around him as he sagged, drawing him in. Brilliant kisser, soft skin and hard edges. Nicky was addicted. “Sexy boy. Go on.” Mark was already running for the stairs. Nicky followed hot on his heels.

Slow. For hours, it felt like. Wanted to touch every inch of him, even as Mark arched, gasped, tried to edge Nicky back up to his mouth. He flushed beautifully when he was exposed like that, when he was lost in it. Pushed Nicky over and kissed everywhere, breathing him in, warm and hungry against his skin. Delicate, sucking kisses that teased up him, then closed down, clumsy haven that Nicky couldn't help but arch deliriously into. Fingers stroking over him, hungry moans humming against his skin until Nicky came with a shudder, the soft grunt of approval drowned in his own groans.

When Mark was done too Nicky pulled away to kiss his way back up the crest of a thigh, over the curve of a hip. His boyfriend was still gasping, laid on one side, head pillowed on a bent arm.

Nicky nuzzled into his belly, felt fingers gentle at his cheek. Smelled thick and musky, down here. A thigh hitched over his side, trapping him there while Nicky closed his eyes, breathing in slowly.

“I love you.” It was soft. Maybe not meant to be heard. Nicky felt a smile crawl from his heart to his mouth.

“Love you,” he whispered back. The thigh squeezed him, an awkward hug. He cupped a hand round a firm arse, gave it a pinch in reply. “Happy.”

“Mm,” Mark agreed. “Very.” Nicky tried not to giggle. Crawled up instead to curl into a strong embrace, rolling over to spoon himself to Mark's front. Soft kisses drifted over his nape. “Sleeping?”

“Just for a minute. Then when I wake up you can have me again.” Mark snorted against the back of his neck.

“Want you all the time.”

“You've got me.” Their hands knotted together, pulled against his heart. “Serious?”

“Think so,” Mark whispered. “Want to be.”

“Good.” Nicky smiled, holding his hand tightly. “Good.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

Bryan was shouting.

It wasn't new, particularly. It felt different, today. Savage, almost protective, like Bryan was trying to make a point that was bigger than his words suggested. It was just a song. It was Mark's song, but it was just a song at the end of the day.

“I think we all want it,” Kian interrupted. He was trying to be delicate, but Mark wasn't entirely sure whether he looked more annoyed at Bryan or at Simon. They'd decided to come in a united front. Had discussed it beforehand, that regardless of how well the song did, it was what they all wanted. They'd recorded it behind Simon's back, managed to convince him to put it on the album. Now they were angling for single, and it appeared Simon wasn't having it.

Mark wasn't surprised. He'd been happy enough, having it on the album. It felt more secret that way. A nice little nod to Nicky, a way to say hi, and I love you, and this is for you. He didn't know that he felt quite comfortable splashing it across the radio.

He got it. Mandy had gone to number one, Obvious only to number three. Simon was going for the safe bet.

He understood being safe. Making the smart decision.

“Mark found this brilliant bloody song, and you're saying...”

“Boys...”

“It's a great song,” Shane said. “Something different, you know? Maybe it won't go number one, but if it does... well, it's good for us. Break out of our comfort zone. We can't get all number ones forever.”

The sentiment seemed to be that they could, if they played it right. Suddenly Mark wasn't sure why it mattered. It was just a number. It didn't mean anything.

“I want to do it,” he blurted. He got a strange look from the others, realised he hadn't said anything since they'd walked in the door. “It's not the lead single or anything,” he said lamely, looked down at his hands. Simon raised an eyebrow.

“You're all in agreement, are you?” They nodded in unison. “Right.” Mark caught his own face in the mirror behind Simon. All five of them reflected in glass that had _Yes Simon, you look terrific_ etched along the bottom frame. They looked tired. Angry. Bryan was on his feet.

Simon's hands folded on the desk.

There was no contract, no deal, but by the time Mark left the office he felt like they'd all signed something. Made a bargain, perhaps. Do this if you want, but on your own heads be it. Then come crawling back when you've decided Simon knows better, when you've realised you can't do this on your own after all.

They'd won.

He didn't feel any better about it.

 

*

 

There was something on Mark's mind. He put up a good front, Nicky could give him that, but there was something wrong. In the set of his shoulders, the hang of his head. He looked tired. Troubled. Like he was constantly turning something over in the back of his head, trying to fit a key into the wrong lock.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Hmm?” Mark looked up. He'd been looking at the television, though Nicky suspected he hadn't actually seen it for the last ten minutes or so. His boyfriend was curled up at the other end of the sofa, chin rested on his knee Nicky reached out to touch him with a curled foot. Half a smile flickered across full lips.

“Quiet.”

“Just tired.” He yawned. Nicky stroked his toes up a long, hairy shin. Fingers threaded into them for a moment, squeezed, then rested absently on his knee.

“You want to go cuddle up in bed?”

“I'm okay here.” Nicky nodded, then poked him again until Mark took the hint and stretched his feet out to let Nicky tug them into his lap. He started on the left one, felt Mark flinch slightly as he squeezed into a tense arch, then relax. Felt toes wriggle against his mouth when he kissed them, relishing the soft laugh a playful nibble elicited. By the time he pulled the right foot into his lap Mark was smiling at him.

“Is it work?”

“No.” Mark closed his eyes. The cushion shifted when he leaned his head back into it so he adjusted it, arms stretching above his head and pulling him taut. Nicky felt his heart skip, felt the pressure of Mark's foot rub against the part of him responding to this sexy boy. “You don't want to hear about work anyway. You said it was boring.”

“It is. But you're not,” Nicky promised. Mark's toes wriggled fondly in reply. “Anyway, you've got this CD launch thing next week. That must be exciting.”

“It's fine.” The album was out the next Monday. Mark would be away for a few weeks promoting it, and Nicky had a feeling he was going to miss him an awful lot, in a way he hadn't before. Maybe it was that they'd finally said 'love', or maybe it was just that he'd gotten so used to Mark being around. Mark felt a part of his life.

“Can I have a signed copy?”

“No. What, do you think you're special? Line up like everyone else.”

“Fine. When are you at HMV Baldoyle?”

“Not a clue. Check the website.” Mark smirked. Nicky bit his big toe. Hard. “Course you can. I'll pinch one from the pile we send out to competition winners.”

“Not even personally signed? You celebrities. Don't care about your fans.”

“Only the special ones,” Mark teased. Nicky let go of his foot, began to climb up, nudging Mark's knees together so he could lean over him, their legs tangling together. Blue eyes looked up at him, something anxious in their depths. Nicky stroked his fingers down a stubbled cheek.

“I'm not special?”

“Didn't say that.” Mark lifted his head, pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of Nicky's mouth. Probably trying to be distracting, but fingers were walking up Nicky's spine, and he couldn't say he was going to argue it. Nails scraped at the back of his neck. He felt a hot breath shiver over his cheek. “Just think you could try harder.”

“Could I?” He couldn't grab Mark properly, not while he was trying to keep himself propped up on his elbows. “What do you want, babe?” he murmured. Felt Mark arch into him. It was sweet, sleeping with Mark. Inexperienced and earnest. Like being a teenager again, fumbling, exploring, hungry kisses and clumsy hands.

“Like it when...” His eyes closed, hips tilting up. He was going red. It was lovely. “When um.”

“Is it something I do to you?” Nicky urged. Mark shook his head. “Something you do to me?” Soft hiss, bitten lip. Nicky ground down again. “Tell me. It won't be wrong, I promise.” He shifted up to sit astride him, grinding down. “What do you want to do to me?”

“I...” He gulped. Bucked slightly into Nicky's touch. Hard underneath him. Nicky was surprised when he sat up suddenly. They both growled into the hard kiss Nicky was yanked into, and he felt a hand fumble beneath him, heard the clink of a belt. Undid his own, moving blind while he was busy devouring Mark's mouth. Didn't break the kiss when he climbed off and dropped his jeans, kicked them awkwardly away, felt Mark shimmy out of his own.

Climbed back on. One arm around him, the other still fumbling, and then oh, hard length pressing up against him, grinding into the crack of his arse. He heard Mark moan, echoed it. Swallowed it, pressing so close they were kissing almost sideways, wrapped around each other and his hips jerking back into the touch of it.

“Is that right?” he teased. Mark was red, lips parted. Nicky sucked a kiss to his mouth. “You like fucking me?” Mark's eyes fluttered closed, opened drowsily again. Nicky rubbed their noses together, nuzzling until they were kissing hard.

They hadn't gone all the way. Nicky generally didn't, had only done it with a handful of boys. Still, this was gorgeous. Frantic, jerking thrusts, catching on him as Mark ground in.

“Fuck,” Mark gasped. He was panting. Nicky growled, pushed back to let Mark slide deeper. Too dry, but slickening as they moved. Felt a blunt head guide at his hole, the electric clench of pleasure. “I...” He gulped. Bit at Nicky's ear. “Fuck, that's...”

“You like it?” Nicky murmured. “Do you want to come inside me, or do you just like that?”

He whined hungrily. Nicky shivered. “Just like...” They were crushed together. Probably looked ridiculous, from the outside. T-shirts on, rutting against each. Nicky couldn't stop. “Do you...”

“I fucking love it,” Nicky promised. Mark groaned into the crook of his shoulder. “Want you to come all up my arse.” He felt thick flesh twitch against him, move faster. “Want it. You want to do it? All over me?”

“Yes...” It was a lost croak. “Oh Jesus...”

“You could bend me over.” Mark gasped against his ear. “You could. Bend me over and finish on my back. I'd love it like that.” He licked up a flaming cheek. “So sexy,” he whispered. “You come over all sweet, don't you? Turns out you're fucking filthy.” Well, not particularly - this was all quite tame - but there was nothing wrong with encouragement. “Have me.” Mark pushed up extra hard, almost went in for the barest moment. It was delicious. “Have me, baby.”

“Nicky,” Mark choked out. Nicky felt the swell of heat, the jerk of his hips. Slick and bursting up his arse and onto his lower back. Teeth bit into his throat.

They stilled slowly. Mark was panting, heaving into him. Nicky cradled him.

“Alright?”

“Yeah.” He sounded breathless. “Yeah. Good.” Nuzzled bashfully into Nicky's shoulder. “I'm weird, aren't I?”

“Definitely not.” Nicky kissed his cheek. “Why do you think that?”

“Just...” A blunt chin rested on his shoulder. “Don't know. I don't know any more.” He exhaled slowly. “This isn't me.”

“I think it is.” Nicky smiled. “I think it's perfect. I think you're perfect.” He tugged Mark up until they could look at each other. Worried blue eyes, still dazed. “I want whoever you are. You don't have to pretend to be something else.” Slow nod. Nicky kissed away the troubled frown. Their foreheads leaned together. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Nicky kissed delicate lids when Mark closed his eyes. “I'm... happy. When I'm with you.”

“Good.” Nicky pecked his forehead. “Now do you want to hear what I want?” he teased, grinding into Mark's belly. Heard a soft laugh. “It does require moving to the bedroom.”

“So you want a nap?”

“Maybe after.” Strong fingers tickled playfully at his lower back. “Come on. Gotta start moving before all the cum in my arse starts dripping onto the sofa.” Mark laughed. “It'll be a run. Don't want to get any on the carpet.”

“I'll race you then.” Mark slapped his arse. Nicky squeaked in surprise.

“Tart.” He climbed off carefully. Beautiful boy, smiling up at him.

He ran for the bedroom, giggling when he heard Mark's footsteps start to catch up.

 

*

 

Monday was manic. By midday it was apparent that they were going to be number one straight out of the gate. Mark hadn't expected to be excited about it, had wondered if it would all feel a bit old hat after the last four albums, but it was like doing it for the first time again. Maybe because it felt new, for the first time in a long time. Felt like an album that they'd fought for. The first reviews were coming in, and while he hadn't expected much more than the usual there was praise for the new direction, for the rockier feel. That they were fresh again, not just sticking to the same old formula.

It was a good feeling.

They did the London signing in the afternoon, played the album in the background as they scribbled their names across the cover photo. Bryan nudged him when Hey Whatever came on, and Mark smiled back, feeling an unexpected sense of pride. Kian and Shane were tapping their feet under the desk.

He called Nicky that night. Nicky said he'd already grabbed a copy, that he knew Mark had promised him one but he hadn't been able to wait. He was ten minutes late to the launch party because he was too busy talking, and when he got there all the lads were stuck into the cocktails, partners hanging off their arms.

He felt abruptly alone.

He wanted to go. To get on a flight back to Dublin and be in Nicky's arms. Not even to have sex, but just to feel Nicky kiss his cheek and stroke his hair, maybe fall asleep against his side so Mark could nudge him awake and guide him to bed, feel Nicky lean sleepily into him. Wake him the next morning with breakfast in the pokey little flat and smell terrible morning breath and share the shower, bump into each other as they both tried not to knock the shampoo onto the floor.

A bathroom trip turned into a twenty minute sit-down on the loo. It didn't feel better, but at least he was alone by himself, instead of being alone with other people.

A text came through just as he was about to force himself back up.

_You're on the telly! Apparently London was swarmed with fans. Should I be worried? Love you xxx_

Mark laughed. Heard his own voice break.

When he stepped out Kian was stood at the sink, washing his hands.

“Hey.” Studying eyes flicked over his face. “You okay?”

“Brilliant. Number one.” He forced a smile. “Kian...” He wanted to say something, suddenly. Wasn't sure where the urge had come from, though it ebbed away just as quickly. Kian raised an eyebrow. “Nice one, yeah?”

“It is.” A hand clapped onto his shoulder on the way past. “Come on, eejit. Let's get maggoted.”

 

*

 

“You sick of that thing yet?”

“No,” Nicky retorted. Georgina was rolling her eyes in the passenger seat. “It's a good album.”

“I'm not disagreeing, I'm just saying you haven't played anything else in two weeks.”

He turned it up, just to be obstinate. They were up to On My Shoulder, which was becoming one of Nicky's favourite songs. He'd made Mark sing it to him over the phone the other day, gotten an indulgent laugh before Mark had obliged, murmuring it down the line from whatever bloody country he was in at the moment.

He missed Mark like crazy.

“What you doing for Christmas?”

“Mam and dad's.”

“Taking your fella?'

“Probably not.” He hadn't thought to ask. Knew Mark would say no, regardless. “Why, are you taking yours?”

“Yeah, doing his for lunch and mine for dinner.” Nicky had met the man a few weeks before. Seemed like a nice lad, Ethan, definitely besotted with Georgina. Part of him was jealous. Not toward him, but maybe for the way they'd been holding hands so casually, beaming at each other. Because he'd had that, with her, and hadn't been able to keep it. “Why you not taking him?”

“His family are out west. It was too awkward.” It was true, sort of. He assumed Mark would spend Christmas in Sligo. “We'll see each other, just not on the day.” And he'd have to find a present. He had no idea what to get. Wondered if he could just tell Mark they'd both donate to a charity or something, so it didn't feel too awkward and one-sided. The rest of him wanted to give Mark the world.

The drive was short. Crowd control for a peaceful protest at the park. It was silly, probably, but he felt almost nervous doing it after everything that had happened at the airport all those months ago. There was no point worrying in the end. The protesters chanted, waved some signs, and eventually dispersed. Nicky mostly felt sorry for the poor groundskeepers who had to clean up after them.

He texted Mark when he got home. When he woke up that evening there was a reply, kisses at the end.

Dinner was made with his iPod plugged into the speaker, blaring Hey Whatever just loud enough to not annoy the neighbours.

 

*

 

_You're on the telly again! Why are you blonde? It's awful._

Mark chuckled to himself, saw Bryan's eyes dart to his phone, then roll slightly.

“Let me guess who.”

“Nobody,” Mark said quickly. They were chilling on their bunks, waiting to arrive in Birmingham. It was two weeks until Christmas, and he hadn't seen Nicky in seventeen days. He hadn't expected to miss his boyfriend this much, but it was definitely there, a pang in his chest that got worse and better at the same time whenever he got a new text or had a moment free to call.

“What's Nobody say?”

“Just... nothing.” He tapped back a quick reply, asked what Nicky was watching, and got a text a moment later informing him it was a repeat of that documentary they'd done in Nashville earlier that year, and Mark looked sexy in a cowboy outfit, despite the dreadful hair.

“Are you going to be spending Christmas with Nobody?”

“Er...” Mark baulked. He hadn't considered it. Maybe as the season had gotten closer and he'd been getting a bit maudlin, had images of dressing a tree together and kissing under mistletoe, but not in any realistic way. “Probably not.”

“He hasn't asked you?”

“No. Well...” Mark shrugged. “I wouldn't say yes, anyway.” He cast a nervous glance toward the stairs, but Kian was playing the guitar, Shane singing along, and they wouldn't be able to hear regardless.

“Why not? You don't want to meet his family?”

“I'm...” He didn't know what to say. “ _My_ family don't even know I'm gay. It'd be a bit weird to show up at his.” He bit his lip, trying to think, then realised what he'd said. Bryan was smirking.

“So you are, are you?”

“Yeah,” Mark admitted. It felt strange to say it out loud, except it hadn't, not while he'd been saying it. Had felt completely natural, talking about himself, about the boy he loved. Then he'd realised, caught himself. Now it felt awkward, a coat he'd shrugged on by mistake and needed to change before he went out in public.

“When are you going to tell your family?”

“I don't...” He drew in tighter without meaning to, knees to his chest on the bed. “I don't know. Never?” It sounded an awfully long time. Impossibly long. Bryan was studying him. “I don't know, Bryan.”

“Do you think they'll mind?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. Probably not, rationally. But it was more people. More people who knew. Nicky and Bryan were two. His family made it six. Nicky's family made it ten. Then grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, the lads, their partners, then...

A billowing cloud, spreading faster than he could get a grasp on.

“Do you love him?”

“Yes,” Mark breathed. Bryan's eyes softened. He was pulled into a hug, and when Bryan pulled back he was beaming. Mark smiled carefully back. “I feel stupid.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn't try harder not to,” Mark admitted. “I was able to do it for ages. Not be...” He looked away, unable to meet the gaze boring into him. “I got so tired, and he was there, and now it feels even harder to let go. Maybe I should let go.”

“Fuck that.” He was punched in the arm. Too hard. Yelped. Bryan glared at him. “Don't be a fucking coward.”

“The band...”

“Isn't your life,” Bryan argued. “It isn't. It's shite.” Mark blinked in confusion. “You're gay, you mopey twat. Climb out of your own arsehole and stop acting like it's the worst thing that's ever happened to anyone. You're not dying.” Mark's mouth stuttered on the words. “I can't tell you what to do, but at least if you're going to do something, do it for yourself. Because this is...” His voice broke, and he looked away.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked, hesitant. Bryan nodded but didn't look back. “Bry, if...”

“You know what? It's your life. I'm probably not the best person to ask for advice.” Mark didn't know how to reply to that. Bryan stood up. “I'm going to go see what those two are doing. You want to come? We can tell them you're a poof.”

“Er... no. Thanks.” Mark crossed his arms over his bent-up knees. “Might just sleep for a bit.” Bryan's nod was dismissive. Mark just wanted Nicky.

“Suit yourself.” He staggered off, swaying slightly with the movement of the bus.

Mark looked down at his phone, wondering what the hell to do.

 


	14. Chapter 14

“You know, I'm still expecting a signed copy of the album.”

Mark kissed his temple. They were at Mark's for once, snuggled up on the balcony overlooking the garden. Mark had just gotten back into town and Nicky had to be at work in a few hours. They'd spent a reasonable amount of time clawing at each other – Mark had missed him fiercely, and it appeared Nicky had felt the same way – and now Mark was just enjoying the feel of him, the warmth. The smell, which was all over the bed now, something to cling to that night when Nicky finally had to go.

“Sorry.” He pecked Nicky's cheek, felt it swell in a smile. “I do mean to get you one, I just keep forgetting.”

“How could you forget me?” Nicky said cheekily. Mark dug fingers into his stomach to feel him laugh and wriggle, then tugged him closer when he was done.

“Couldn't. Just when I think about you it's usually not to do with signing CDs,” he explained. Nicky grinned.

“I have one in my car. You could sign it for me today.”

“Just carrying it around?”

“Haven't stopped listening to it,” Nicky admitted. Mark snorted, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I mean, it won't be the other lads as well, but at least I got the best one.”

“You did,” Mark agreed. Nicky kissed his chin. “Go on, then. I'll wait.”

“Right.” Nicky pushed himself off the love-seat. Mark hadn't actually expected him to go, had just been teasing, but Nicky had already tugged his shoes back on, was headed inside. He paused in the doorway, and Mark smiled back, saw blue eyes studying him.

“What?”

“Gorgeous.” The wink he got made him want to melt. “Love you, babe.” He ducked inside, leaving Mark grinning after him. It was stupid, but every time he heard Nicky say it it felt like the first time, like a little flare of panicked joy that swelled in his core, warm and soft.

It wasn't precisely true that he hadn't remembered. It was more finding the right time. There was something too complicated about it, like asking Shane and Kian was going to open a door he didn't feel like passing through. Telling them he'd promised a CD to someone, then telling them who to make it out to, trying to appear casual enough and hoping they wouldn't remember about that officer with the same name, the one from all those months ago that Mark hadn't mentioned since.

He was still lost in his thoughts when Nicky bounced back out onto the balcony and thrust the CD into his hand.

“Who should I make it out to?” he joked, taking the pen Nicky had brought as well.

“To Nicholas,” Nicky announced. “For being the best fan ever.”

“Best fan? Really?” Mark dutifully began to scribble. “What was our first number one?”

“Swear it Again,” Nicky announced. “Easy one.”

“Okay...” Mark mused, trying to think. “What's Shane's birthday?”

“Not a clue,” Nicky laughed. “Why would I know that?”

“You would, if you were a fan,” Mark pointed out. “Probably all his family's names too, and what size underwear he wears.” He dotted the bottom of his signature with three kisses. “There. Thanks for being a fan.”

“Apparently I'm not one. I don't even know the colour of Kian's arsehole,” Nicky chuckled. He took the CD. “Perfect. Sell this on eBay.” He rested it on the table next to them, beside his wallet. “I know the noise you make when you come. Surely that's extra points?”

“Has to be worth something. Don't tell the fans.”

“That one's just for me.”

“Yeah. It is.” He wrapped his arm around Nicky's waist again, though they were interrupted a moment later when Nicky's phone began to ring. He reluctantly let go again.

“Hey, mam.” Nicky settled back into his side to talk. It was sweet, actually. His voice changed when he talked to either one of his parents; Mark had heard him on the phone with them a few times. It was fonder, more comfortable. Nicky was good at sounding professional usually, when it was work or someone, but he spoke to his family the same way he spoke to Mark, like they knew each other well enough to dispense with the niceties.

It was a good feeling, being spoken to like that. Like family.

“I know, yeah,” Nicky chuckled. “Well, I can get there around eleven?” He paused to listen, then let out a soft laugh. “Oh, god, please tell Gill not to. The last lad she tried to set me up with was...” He rolled his eyes. Mark swallowed, licked his suddenly dry lips. “I don't need it. No. I really don't. A boyfriend? Erm...” He was looking a little flustered now. Mark felt a swell of guilt. “It's complicated.” The nuzzle Mark pressed into his shoulder was trying to be an apology. A hand mussed through his hair in reply. “Mm.”

“I'll come with you,” Mark decided, suddenly. Nicky looked at him in surprise, eyes widening. If his mother expected him to reply, he wasn't doing that, was busy staring at Mark. “I erm... if you want to come.”

“Sorry, mam, just a sec.” Nicky put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He wasn't. Had no idea what had come over him, except he didn't want to be apart from Nicky at Christmas, that maybe Bryan was right. Maybe he was being a coward. “Just... I'll come with you. If you want.”

“Okay,” Nicky sounded unsure, but there was smile dancing in his eyes. “Okay,” he said again. He bent in to press a kiss to Mark's cheek. “Officially asking.”

“Officially saying yes.” Nicky went back to the phone, let his mother know that there was a change of plans, and he'd have a plus one, if that was okay. Mark blushed, glad when he saw the fond look Nicky was giving him, still tinged with surprise.

He went inside to go to the bathroom. When he came out Nicky was off the phone again, his arm reached out in invitation. Mark slid into it, leaned into the touch of lips on his forehead.

“You're shaking,” Nicky murmured.

He was. Tried to breathe slow enough to quell the nervous jitters shivering through him.

“My family aren't scary, I promise.” Mark opened his mouth to explain. That it wasn't that. That he felt like he'd just plummetted out of the sky and wasn't sure where the ground was yet. Nicky cut him off with a soft kiss. “I know,” he said. Mark sagged with relief. A hand slid soothingly up his back. “I know. It's okay.” The embrace pulled him in. He sank. Closed his eyes against a strong shoulder. “Just breathe. It's alright.”

“I'm okay,” he managed. Nicky nodded.

“I know,” he said. “I've got you.”

 

*

 

Mark was having a nightmare.

He hadn't had one in a few weeks, or at least not that Nicky knew about. He was woken by the tossing, by a low, mumbling whine. Cracked one eye open when the duvet suddenly disappeared, caught between shifting legs when Mark rolled away.

“Shh...” Nicky soothed sleepily. It usually helped, woke Mark enough to get him out of it. He reached out a hand to pat a trembling shoulder. “Shh, love.” Mark whimpered. Nicky gathered him up slowly, stroked through his hair. Felt tears on his shoulder. “I've got you. It's okay.” He yawned. It was late, probably two in the morning. He'd come over after work that evening for a late dinner and ended up staying. They both had things on the next day, then the day after was Christmas Eve. Nicky couldn't believe how quickly it had come.

Mark had called his parents to say he'd met someone and would be staying in Dublin for Christmas to meet their family, had danced around pronouns while he'd mentioned that they were very nice, and they'd been seeing each other for a couple of months, but that things had sort of gotten serious, and yes he'd definitely bring them to visit soon. He hadn't looked sure at all about the last bit and Nicky hadn't pried. This was a big enough step as it was.

The thrashing had stopped. When Nicky looked down it was into half-open blue eyes that blinked at him in slight confusion, welled with tears.

“Hey,” he murmured. Mark still looked disoriented, but his eyes were clearing. He yawned, burying his face in Nicky's shoulder to cover his mouth. Nicky felt his heart flip. It had to be illegal for one person to be this cute.

“Bad dream,” Mark croaked

“I know.” Nicky kissed his forehead. “Want to talk about it?”

“Don't remember.” He was lying. Nicky didn't comment. “Sorry. Back to sleep.” He closed his eyes. Nicky held him tight, felt arms wrap around his waist.

“Love you,” Nicky whispered. Mark mumbled something in reply.

Nicky closed his eyes and sank into him.

 

*

 

“I'm erm... I'm not coming.”

Shane looked up in surprise. Kian tilted his head. The green room was packed, everyone milling back and forth and sidling around each other, and Kian had just finished wondering aloud if they should drive to Sligo together or separately, what time they should look at leaving to miss the traffic.

“You always go home for Christmas.”

“Yeah, thought I'd erm...” Bryan was smirking at him. He tried not to blush. “I'll go up for St Stephen's, I just have something else planned back here, so...” He laughed, trying to deflect the curious looks he was getting. “What? I can spend Christmas in Dublin.”

“I'm sure you could, mammy's boy,” Shane chuckled. “You just haven't done it before.”

“Yeah, well...” He shrugged. “I've got other plans.”

“What other plans?” Mark glanced at Bryan, but there was no help there, just an enormous smug grin. He resisted the urge to scowl.

“I promised a friend I'd do something with them.”

“On Christmas day? Who makes plans on Christmas day?”

“People. I don't know.” He looked up as the light flashed above the door. “That's probably us, isn't it? Should we be...” He looked desperately for a runner or assistant that might be calling their name. Busted was ushered out instead. When he looked back they were all still staring at him. “Er... I need the bathroom?”

“We're on after Busted,” Bryan reminded him. He really was enjoying this. It was infuriating. “You might have to hold it.”

“Oh.” Mark grimaced, feeling himself deflate. He sort of did need the bathroom now. It was probably just nerves. And not because they were about to go out there and sing on live telly. “Erm...”

“Westlife, you're on in two!”

Mark fled for the door.

 

*

 

Nicky looked up as he heard Westlife's name called, a grin already stretching across his face. He'd sort of been watching the program, had enjoyed the other acts well enough. He generally enjoyed these holiday things. They were always good craic, and with only two days until Christmas day, he was already feeling reasonably festive, had the Christmas tree up in the corner and bits of tinsel spotted here and there.

The station was decked out as well. He and Georgina had decorated their desks together, her putting a little dancing Santa next to his computer that seemed to be set off by the slightest movement. He'd scared himself more than once, shifted in his chair and the thing had gone off without warning, bellowing Ho Ho Ho at the top of it's electronic lungs, then launched into a version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town that felt like it went on much longer than the original ever had.

He'd quietly turned it off. The next day she'd turned in back on without him realising and he'd jumped with fright when it had leapt to life, bobbing merrily on his desk.

She'd laughed herself stupid at that one.

The lights went up. Nicky put his popcorn aside and sat up straighter, smiling when he heard the familiar opening piano of Hey Whatever.

It was a good performance. They seemed to be having a grand time, not the usual stools and suits. Kian and Shane were laughing and hanging off each other, Bryan playing up to the microphone, and in between them Mark, belting out the most amazing notes, eyes crinkling up whenever the camera would come past him. Then, right at the end, he waved. Probably at the audience, but Nicky found himself waving stupidly back, an enormous smile on his face.

They did Mandy next, then it was over. Nicky hugged a couch cushion to his chest, sure he couldn't be prouder if he tried. He reached for his phone.

_You were brilliant! I love you so much!_

He didn't get a reply, though that wasn't a surprise. Mark probably didn't have his phone on him, and he was definitely busy. It was enough, though, to say it. To be so proud of one person, and know that when Mark came over the next night he would just be Mark again, the boy Nicky loved, who just happened to be talented, and beautiful, and so amazing Nicky couldn't stand it.

They came back on for the encore, with all the rest of the acts. When it was over Nicky went to bed. Got a text just as he was drifting off, one that murmured from across the sea that he was loved, and that Mark would see him tomorrow.

Nicky turned his face into his hands and went to sleep, smile squashed into the pillow.

 


	15. Chapter 15

It was cosy, in Nicky's little flat. They'd talked about spending Christmas Eve at Mark's, snuggled up in front of the fireplace, but in the end had decided it was easier to be at Nicky's, so they could go straight to his family's place in the morning without having to worry too much about getting across town.

It was just as nice here. No fireplace, but there was hot cocoa, the two of them under the duvet on the sofa, Mark on top, legs tangled together, and some rot on television. Mark felt himself drift in the quiet of it, fingers stroking carefully through his hair, more soothing than they had been an hour or so before when they'd been carding feverishly through, heavy salt on his tongue and low gasps hitching above him.

It was becoming one of his favourite things. He'd been worried, at first, thought he'd be no good at it, but practice was certainly fun and there was something powerful in it. In watching Nicky fall apart, teasing him slowly before gulping him down, listening to ragged moans turn into cries as the taste changed and he swelled in Mark's grip, twitching against his tongue.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No.” Mark closed his eyes. “Just stay.”

“Okay.” He heard the smile in Nicky's voice. “My family are excited about meeting you.” Mark nodded, felt himself tense. He supposed it was a nervous thing, meeting a partner's parents for the first time, but it felt bigger than that. Felt terrifying, if he was honest. Not just that, but his own family's questions about who he was spending Christmas with, the surprise from the other lads.

He didn't know if he was ready for this. How to be ready for this.

People were asking questions, and in a growing, clenching part of his stomach, he was starting to wonder if maybe they'd mind so much if it was a girl. If he wasn't doing something wrong.

“They won't tell anyone, will they?”

“Course not. Hey...” Fingers caught his chin, tugging him up, and he saw a worried smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just...” He attempted a shrug, but it came off awkward. Nicky's smile faltered. “Sorry. Last minute jitters, probably. It'll be alright on the day.” He forced a laugh. It sounded broken. “Um.”

“It'll be alright,” Nicky promised. Mark was tugged up, closer. “You get nervous before you go on stage sometimes, right? Maybe this is like that. Get out there, and you'll be perfect.”

“Yeah, but I've been on stage before. I know how to do that.”

“You know how to talk to people. You've done interviews, haven't you? And I'm sure you've had dinner before.” Mark was forced into a laugh when fingers tickled at his sides. “If you need more practice at stuffing yourself so full you need to undo your trousers, I'm sure I can give you a few pointers.” Lips brushed playfully against his. “They'll love you. I promise they will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they love me, and I have brilliant taste.” He tugged Mark closer. “I love you.” He was pulled into another kiss, felt a tremor of want despite the nerves. Hips lifted against his, not in invitation he didn't think, just drawn there automatically. A hand slid down his spine, curved over his arse. “We can't hide forever, love. I want this with you. For quite a long time, if possible.”

“I... want that too.” He nestled back into Nicky's shoulder. Fingers stroked carefully through his hair again.

“You don't have to be afraid,” Nicky murmured. “I'll protect you.”

 

*

 

“You okay?”

“Just had to pee.” The mattress rolled as Mark sank back in. Nicky cracked open one eye, reaching out. Fingers curled into his, and he smiled as dark hair squashed into his neck, a head heavy on his shoulder. “Night.”

Nicky mumbled a reply, feeling sleep drag at him.

 

*

 

Mark lay awake, staring at Nicky.

Completely beautiful. A hand was clasped over his, loose in sleep, the other trapped under Mark's side where they'd been holding each other when Nicky had dropped off again. He had needed to pee, hadn't been lying about that, but the moments before, the crush and the breathlessness, and jolting awake to find himself gasping in the dark, that had been...

He swallowed, feeling panic grate at him. Wanted to run. Not to. Away. From everything. From Nicky, who was so kind, who wanted him. Nicky was right. They couldn't hide forever. Soon, eventually, people would find out. Not families or the lads, but other people. People with cameras readied the moment they stepped out of the house. They couldn't stay here. They couldn't leave. And every time Mark came here there was more risk of someone noticing. That the boy everyone knew kept coming to the same apartment building on the other side of Dublin, that a man kept coming to his house and being let inside.

They'd take pictures. Follow them. Find them.

He and Nicky couldn't hide forever. And Nicky couldn't protect him from that.

Mark realised he couldn't breathe. Tried to suck something in, but instead he could just feel his heart hammering faster, swelling with the strain. Nicky, fast asleep and not able to help. Not able to do anything but...

He slid carefully out of bed, stumbled into the bathroom. It wasn't him in the mirror. Couldn't be him. Not here, not doing this. Different people, with the same face, the other one left suffocated and trampled on the ugly airport carpet. He wanted to be sick. Wanted Nicky to hold him. Wanted...

He collected his things in silence. It was cold, when he stepped out into the night, biting frost and the Christmas lights dancing on the black metal of the jeep.

 

*

 

The bed was empty when Nicky woke.

He yawned. Stretched. Not even dawn, but the clock read six in the morning. He lay there for a moment, listening for the noise of socks pattering around the flat, or the flush of the toilet.

Heaved himself up with another yawn. When he made it to the bathroom the door was open, the light off. Came back out, but the living room was as empty as he remembered it, the kitchen staring back at him, white tiles grey in the dim light. He headed back to the bedroom, wondering if he'd missed something.

There was a note on Mark's side of the bed. Nicky's stomach dropped.

He unfolded it carefully.

 

*

 

The mist was heavy that morning as the sun rose. Mark peered through the glass, barely able to see the road. He'd just passed the halfway point tp Sligo. It was busy this morning, a collision cutting off three lanes of westward traffic, and the roads were jammed with people trying to get to wherever they intended to go for the holiday.

His phone beeped beside him. He ignored it. It beeped again.

Standstill. He rolled to a stop, saw miles of cars stretched ahead, disappearing into the fog. On the other side cars whizzed past, moving back towards the city. He saw a few in his own lane start to peel off into the other side and head back the way they'd come, giving up for now. Rested his forehead on the steering wheel and tried to get a breath.

“Fuck,” he gasped. His chest felt heavy. He felt trapped, suddenly, the car a coffin and the fog blocking out the windows. He rolled one down, but there was no breeze, just still white cold, tacky on his skin. He sobbed. Heard his phone beep again.

_Where are you?_

He threw the phone down. The traffic moved slightly. He edged up with it. Stopped again. Wanted to scream. Realised people could probably see him, with the tinted window not blocking the way, and rolled it back up again. Folded his arms on the steering wheel, trying to get control of himself.

His phone began to ring.

 

*

 

“Come on,” Nicky muttered. He'd sent too many texts, rung too many times. Had promised himself that every time was the last one, that maybe if Mark didn't want to be contacted he should stop trying, give the lad some space.

He looked down at the note in his hand.

_I can't do this I'm sorry._

Unsigned, no I Love You, just six words scribbled quickly on a piece of paper that looked to be torn off the notepad Nicky kept in the kitchen for shopping lists. The handwriting looked almost panicked, made Nicky's heart hurt, messy and the pen pressing down too hard, the corner ripped where it had been yanked quickly from the binding.

He heard the phone click, breath on the other end.

“Mark?”

“Nicky?” He sounded lost. “Erm...”

“Where are you? Are you okay?” There was a long silence. “Mark?”

“I'm okay.” The voice was too flat. A little hollow. “Er...” It broke. “Can you come get me please?”

 

*

 

The traffic was dreadful. Nicky peered through the glass, looking out. It was light, an early morning fog rolled away to reveal lines of cars stretching through the hills, though he'd heard on the radio that a three car collision had just been cleared. Nobody seriously hurt, but it had blocked traffic for hours.

They were moving steadily now, though not quickly. It took almost two hours to make it to the petrol station Mark had described, a trip that should have only taken one. Nicky saw the jeep before he saw the man, was jogging across the tarmac before the door had properly closed, heart in his throat.

He knocked gently. Saw a shadow look up from the steering wheel, arms folded atop it. There was a click as the door unlocked.

“Hey...” Nicky climbed in carefully. Mark looked awful. Pale and blotchy, eyes red. The door clicked shut behind him. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” It sounded choked when he breathed in. “Sorry, I...” He looked away. Nicky put a hand on his shoulder, felt it tense under his touch. Sat there in silence to give Mark a chance to collect himself. There didn't seem much point asking questions, not in any way that didn't sound like an interrogation.

It took a long time, but eventually Mark looked up. Nicky motioned, felt a heavy shape lean into his arms. Mark was trembling. Nicky felt his heart ache.

“It's alright,” he murmured. Mark sobbed.

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“I just... it was so _real_ , and I woke up and I couldn't breathe and I can't _do_ this. I can't...” His voice broke. “I can't be what you need me to be. It's all too much. Everyone wants everything all the time, and I don't know... and I'm letting you down and everything's...”

“You're not... hey, come on...” The gear shift was getting in the way. “Let's get into the back, yeah?”

“Can't. People will see me.”

“Why is that so bad?” Nicky kissed his hair. “What's it got to do with them?”

“But...”

“I'm getting into the back,” Nicky announced. He pushed open the door, despite Mark's protests, and went to the back door, climbed back in. There was more space here. He could see the back of Mark's head, bent over the wheel. Touched a trembling shoulder with one hand. “Come on.”

“I'll stay here.” He leaned back against the seat. Nicky couldn't see his expression. Wrapped his arms around Mark from behind instead, feeling him heave.

“Why does it matter what they think? Really?”

“The band...”

“What about it?” Nicky replied. “Are the songs going to change or something? Are they going to cut your contract? Most successful boyband around and they'll throw it in the bin because you've got a boyfriend? What do you really think is going to happen?” He heard Mark's breath hitch, felt it against his arms. “Mark. Stop panicking and _talk_ to me.”

“It's not up to me.”

“Why not?” Mark shook his head. “Fuck that. They made you do Mandy, even though you hated it, so you fought and did something else, and look, the world's not fallen in! Why can't you do what you want? This is your life. You get a say.”

“I don't.” Mark gulped. “I didn't want to be gay, and I am anyway and...”

“Oh, fuck that!” He was angry, now. Sick of having his identity treated like someone else's burden. “Fuck it. Really? I wanted to be six foot two, but I wasn't, and I got dropped from something I'd wanted to do my entire life. I've _been_ there, remember? What you're doing doesn't fucking stop you from having your own life, so stop acting like you've lost everything. I _did_ lose everything, and when I tried to do something else, nobody wanted me there either. You didn't even remember me. And that's fine. That's life. But you already won, so stop acting like you didn't hear the starter's pistol. It's fucking selfish.”

He covered his mouth. His other arm dropped away from a stiff chest. He could hear Mark's breath, laboured. Almost whistling with hurt.

“Shit,” Nicky breathed. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean...” Mark didn't reply. Nicky wished he was in the front again, that he hadn't decided to make this ridiculous point, because all he wanted was to see Mark's face. He touched Mark's shoulder again, careful. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry,” Mark whispered. Nicky's eyes stung with tears. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“I... I know,” Nicky said lamely. “Erm.” He leaned forward between the seats, could see tears rolling down Mark's cheeks and carefully kissed one away. Mark turned in towards him. “That was harsh. I'm sorry.”

“No. I mean... you're right, aren't you? I guess I just...” He blinked at Nicky. “I'm gonna come get in the back seat with you, if that's alright?” He sat still for a long moment, then nodded to himself, pushed the door open. Nicky held out his arms as he climbed in the back, felt him sidle in. “The nightmares aren't getting any better,” he said softly. Nicky nodded.

“You had a bad fright. I'm not surprised.” He kissed Mark's hair. “Why don't we find someone you can talk to about it? A professional.”

“I can't. What if...”

“Then we sue them to hell for violating doctor-patient confidentiality,” Nicky interrupted. “I'll come with you, if you want. You don't have to do this by yourself.” Mark shrugged. “Well, suppose I have to thank you. This is definitely the most unique Christmas morning I've had in a while, and I spent last year trying to tell a drunk girl that this wasn't her house, actually, and maybe she shouldn't have opened all the presents.” He felt a wet laugh against his chest. “Let's go home. I'll tell my family I'm not well, and we can have a quiet one in together.”

“No.” It was soft. Mark looked up. “I promised. I do... want to meet your family. They sound really nice.” He exhaled slowly. “Okay.”

“If you're not up to...”

“I... yeah. I just need a shower first, maybe. Clean myself up, but...” He managed a smile. Nicky smiled back. “It's your Christmas. I'm not going to ruin it for you.” Nicky opened his mouth to protest, but Mark got there first. “You said there was food, right?”

“I did,” Nicky chuckled. He glanced at his watch. “Well, suppose we'd better get on the road. You okay to drive?” Mark nodded. “Kiss first?” It brushed to his mouth, salty with tears. Nicky hugged him tight. “Don't run away again?”

“I won't,” Mark promised. “Sorry.” He bit his lip, a blush rising to his cheeks. Nicky kissed him again. “Merry Christmas?”

Nicky laughed. “Merry Christmas.”

 

*

 

“More potatoes?”

“Oh... I couldn't.” Mark covered his mouth, blushing slightly when he burped. Nicky grinned and kneed him under the table. “Thank you, but...”

“It's alright, lad. Save room for trifle.” Yvonne patted his shoulder. She was nice. Kept talking a little too fast, same with Gillian, who had sworn loudly when she'd seen him, while Nicky had tried to explain, then tried to be cool despite looking like she wanted to hug him, ask for an autograph, and faint all at once. Then she'd dragged Nicky's dad into the other room, talking hurriedly, and when they'd come out he'd been getting studying looks that had evolved into a lot of questions, because Nicky's dad was in the industry, sort of.

Nicky kept laughing hysterically. Mark kept waiting for him to choke on his drink.

After a while, the conversation settled. He sat quietly, listening to everyone talk about work, and family members and friends he'd never heard of. Yvonne kept fussing over whether the food was alright, surely not as fancy as Mark was used to, and Mark had hesitantly told the story of he and Bryan eating oysters at Mariah Carey's house and trying not to throw up because they'd have preferred a cheese sandwich or something that didn't look like it was trying to wriggle off the plate.

It was getting into the evening, a beer in one hand and the paper hat he'd gotten in a cracker sat badly askew, when Nicky leaned over the back of the sofa and kissed his cheek.

“Trousers unbuttoned yet?”

“Getting there.” He looked up. Nicky was smiling down at him, his own hat tilted at a jaunty angle. “Thanks for today. It was fun.”

“I know.” He could hear Nicky's parents talking in the kitchen, joking while they got the dishwasher loaded. Adam was asleep on the recliner. The television was showing the carols. “I'm going to help clean up, and then we'll head home. Yours or mine tonight?”

“Mine,” Mark decided. “Erm...” He reached up hesitantly and pulled Nicky down into a kiss. He hadn't done it since they'd arrived, didn't feel comfortable about it in front of people, but the only person to see was Adam, and he was snoring.

It parted carefully. Mark felt something frightened in his chest relax, fading away while Nicky smiled at him.

“Love you,” Nicky whispered. “Thanks.”

“Thanks for having me,” Mark replied.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Nicky was glad, in a way, that he was working on New Year's Eve. Most of the officers were, in fairness. One of the busiest nights of the year, of course, the streets packed and so many drunk and disorderlies being handed out Nicky was sure half the city was going to wake up with one the next morning.

“ASBO?”

“I reckon,” Nicky sighed, as they started to meander towards the young man pissing indiscriminately against the outside of a 7-Eleven, his friends giggling around him. When that was done they headed back out into the street again. The lad's friends were still giggling, even though their mate was busy swearing. “Happy New Year?”

“Yeah, cheers.” She rolled her eyes. “Where's your lad tonight?”

“Around.” He was in town, actually, was doing some sort of New Year's thing for RTE, pulling a switch or announcing fireworks or somesuch gladhanding crap. It was easier to work. Better than sitting on his tod at home, wondering where Mark was. There was a mini-tour for Hey Whatever in February, but otherwise it was all UK and Ireland, a bit of downtime before tour rehearsals started. Nicky was looking forward to spending the time together. “Your fella?”

“Lad's night. Said I'd give him a citation if I caught him making trouble.”

“Ooh, sexy,” Nicky teased.

“Off with ya.” She shoved him gently. “Dunno. Think it's getting serious.”

“Really?” He put an arm around her shoulder. “So the marriage of convenience thing?”

“Oh, that's never off the table.” She kissed his cheek. “He could fuck up. We don't know yet.”

“Well, hope he doesn't. For your sake.” She aimed a grudging smile at her shoes. “He seems a good sort, G. I hope he works out.”

“Wish I could say the same about yours. When am I going to meet him?”

“Soon, maybe.” Nicky glanced up the street, hoping for a fight or something to distract attention, though everybody was being annoyingly well-behaved. “He works abroad a lot. I don't get to see him that often myself.”

“Is that not hard?”

“It's fine. I think he's good for me.” She shrugged and pulled away. He understood. Professional. “ASBO,” he announced. She looked up with a laugh, spotted a lad trying desperately to climb into the fountain. “Ladies first.” She pulled her book from her belt.

“Chivalrous.”

He jogged after, laughing when she shot a grin over her shoulder.

 

*

 

“How'd it go?”

“Okay.” The psychiatrist's office was quiet, only a couple of people spotted around. Mark had expected to be recognised, but nobody had really looked up. Probably too wrapped up in their own worries, he realised, to worry about what he was doing. It was a comforting sort of thought. Maybe people didn't really care. Maybe, in the end, he was making it bigger in his head than it needed to be.

They hadn't talked about a lot in the session. Just the nightmares, what had happened at the airport. Nicky had sat in the waiting room, though Mark hadn't mentioned him, just said he'd been panicked at the time and now he kept thinking about it, that for some reason he kept feeling like that, even when he was perfectly safe. This suffocating thing that stopped him in his tracks.

She'd asked if there was anything else he was worried about. He'd said no, just that for now.

It had felt okay. Safe enough, though his heart had been pounding. They climbed into Mark's car, Nicky settled into the passenger seat.

“Where to now?”

“Erm...” Mark glanced around. A bright Saturday afternoon, two weeks into January. It was a beautiful day, despite the cold, the sun out for long enough to warm the air. “Dunno. Could eat.”

“Back to mine? I could make sandwiches.”

“No, erm...” He pursed his lips, felt his heart quicken. “There's a cafe around here that's nice.”

“Outside? Really?” When Mark turned he was getting a look of surprise, shy delight dancing behind it. “We don't have to, if...”

“We can.” Mark felt himself blush. “I mean, we're friends, right? The others have lunch with their friends all the time, so...” He took a deep breath. “Please say yes before I bottle it?”

“Yes. I'd love to.” Nicky grinned. “Just friends. Hands to myself and everything.” He shoved them into his pockets, awkward in the passenger seat. “Okay. Yes.”

Mark nodded and turned onto a side-street, headed for the river.

 

*

 

Lunch was lovely. It was odd, at first, not touching Mark, not doing anything that might suggest a relationship. As stifling as being inside was, it did mean they were generally tactile with each other, not too worried about watching the way they interacted or spoke. Outside it was very much best behaviour. A few times Nicky saw Mark look around nervously, and at one point a couple of girls came over to ask for autographs, but though they glanced at Nicky he didn't think they noticed that he was really there, not when their idol was sat on the other side of the table.

It was sweet, actually. He was very kind to them, asked their names and dutifully scribbled his signature on a napkin for them, let them take a photo, though Nicky did notice that he made sure the camera was turned so Nicky was out of frame. He didn't mind. It was nothing to do with him, and he was sure these girls didn't want him in the shot anyway.

“I love you,” Mark murmured later, when they were laid on the sofa together, Nicky's head pillowed in a broad chest.

“Love you,” he whispered back. “I had a nice lunch.”

“Me too.” Mark sucked in a breath. “Weshoulddoitagain.” It came out in a rush. Nicky looked up.

“I'd like that.”

“Yeah.” It came out a mumble. Nicky laughed, saw a nervous smile, and crawled up to settle astride him. Mark bit his lip. “We could go to the park next week.”

“We definitely could.” He bent lower, saw eyes darken slightly. “Keep talking.”

“Dinner, even.” Rough voice, hips straining up. A tongue darted out. “This doing it for you?”

“Bit sexy.” Nicky nipped a full bottom lip. “Talk dating to me,” he teased, heard Mark laugh. “Come on love. Get a bit more graphic. Turns me on.”

“We could... get fish and chips. Then afterwards I could buy you an ice-cream.” Breath rushed hot over his ear. They both laughed. “I could take you to the cinema. We could see a film."

“Ooh,” Nicky made a show of shivering, grinding down while Mark laughed. “Tell me more.”

“I could walk you to your door.”

“Scandal,” Nicky breathed. Mark was shaking beneath him, trying to pull away. Nicky held him tighter. He rolled away onto his stomach, and Nicky went after, pinning him down while Mark giggled, trying to buck him off. “I don't mind about all that,” he said quietly, once they'd both calmed down. Fingers threaded with his. Mark's shoulder was moving under his cheek, rising and falling with breaths that still hitched with laughter. “Just want you.” He kissed behind a perfect ear, felt Mark still.

“Yeah.” Mark turned, caught his mouth in a kiss. “But the rest of it would be nice too.”

“It would.” Nicky smiled. “Your pace.” He squeezed Mark tighter. “Come on.” He ground down gently, heard Mark chuckle. “Take me to bed, and you can tell me about this dating thing. It sounds kinky.” He threaded his fingers through a large hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Mark nuzzled into him. “Working on it.”

 

*

 

“How's everything going, then?”

“Good.” He didn't know what else to say. Had been caught off-guard by the sudden line of questioning, admittedly, but though Bryan was staring at him curiously he wasn't sure how else to put it. An elbow nudged him. “Really good, actually.” He half expected the ground to grin back at him as they stood there, in the cold while Bryan finished his cigarette. Bryan nudged him again

“Met your parents?”

“No. I've met his, though. They're really nice.” He'd seen them twice since, once for lunch and another time because they'd been on their way past while Mark had been over and had called to see if they could drop in. “We're talking about maybe going to Sligo next week. Haven't decided yet.” He sort of had. If the last few weeks had proven anything, maybe it was that this wasn't that scary after all. He hadn't broached it with the psychiatrist, exactly, but the panic surrounding everything seemed less, now that he was working on the leftover fright from the incident at the airport, and it made everything feel calmer, somehow. A little clearer when he looked at it.

It was like binoculars, or something. Stand too close and what you were trying to see was a mess. Give it a bit of distance, it came into focus. That he could have been hurt, could have even died. That maybe things didn't matter so much in comparison. That maybe they mattered more at the same time, were something to appreciate instead of wear as a burden. That he didn't have to let it crush him because he thought he owed everyone else something. That maybe, sometimes, what he wanted got to come first.

“How are you doing?”

“Not bad.” Bryan shrugged. “Better, I suppose. Kerry and I went through a bit of a rough patch.” Mark nodded, but didn't comment. He'd noticed, of course. Hadn't felt it was his place to pry. “We've been talking, you know? Think maybe we're out the other side. Good thing, probably, with her going into the jungle next week.” Mark nodded. There'd been a bit of excitement around Kerry being on I'm A Celebrity. Kian had loads of questions, looked like he wanted to give it a go himself. Mark thought they were both crazy.

“I'm glad for you.”

“Ta.” Bryan took a last vicious drag on his cigarette, the paper curling right down to the filter. “Honestly was thinking about quitting for a bit there.”

“What, your marriage?” Mark asked, shocked.

“No.” He stomped out the cigarette. Mark bit his lip.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Bryan sighed. “I dunno. Feels...” He looked at Mark. “Maybe getting my second wind. Was happy with the album, more or less, and the tour should be good fun. Got my family, got you lot. Suppose I'm doing okay.”

“Suppose you are,” Mark said tentatively. “Erm...” He didn't know quite what to say. “Well... I'm glad you stayed. Can't do it without you.”

“Course you can.” Bryan reached for the packet, pulled out another cigarette. “You can do anything, mate. You're the talented one. Even if you don't do this, you're too good to waste it.” The cigarette slid back into the packet. “Promised Kerry I'd cut down,” he sighed. “Anyway.” He glanced at Mark. “We should probably get back to work, shouldn't we.” He nodded to the doors. The lads were inside, somewhere, though they'd managed to get a ten minute break in between talking about set design and setlists and all that bollocks. “They might come after us.”

“Search party? Shane'd check the same room five times without realising.”

“Yeah, and Kian'd just shout until one of us heard,” Bryan chuckled. “No, they're good lads, just...” He shrugged. “Dunno, get the feeling sometimes we're the only sensible ones. Then other times I'm pretty sure I'm off me hinges, so it's a bit of a mess regardless.”

“Know the feeling.” Mark sighed. “Have to be mad, don't I?”

“Best people are.” Bryan pushed away from the wall. “Hey... I really enjoyed writing with you last year. We should do it again soon. It was good, like... having you get me.”

“Likewise.” Mark felt himself blush, smiled sidelong at Bryan and tried to pretend it was the cold reddening his cheeks. “Thanks, Bryan.”

“No bother.” His friend pushed the door open. The warmth closed back in around them. Kian looked up from where he was arguing with the coffee machine. “Lads.” He glanced at Mark, who smiled. “Don't worry, we're here.”

“Where were you gonna go?” Shane retorted idly. Bryan chuckled.

“Yeah, good point.” He clapped Mark on the shoulder, punctuated by a meaningful squeeze. “Right, then. Get us a coffee and we'll figure out what kind of stools we want.” He sauntered past into the bathroom, leaving Mark stood with the other two.

“What's with him?”

“Just Bryan being Bryan?”

“Fair enough.” Shane stretched. “Lads' night tomorrow night? Marky?”

“Okay.” Nicky was working, so he supposed he was free. Better than sitting at home anyway. There was a whoop as Kian finally got the coffee machine to work. They all laughed. Bryan came back out wiping his hands on his jeans. “Bryan? Lads' night?”

“Brilliant.” Bryan grinned. “Where we going?”

 

*

 

“Stay still.” Nicky peered at Mark's hair, one hand raking gel up through it. Mark was wriggling. He looked very cute. Utterly gorgeous, in fact, in black trousers and a dark green shirt, deliciously sat between dangerous and slick. Nicky was finding it very hard not to molest him. “Okay. All done.”

“Cheers.” Mark turned around to look in the mirror. Nicky wrapped around from behind, watched him fiddle with the front for a moment before nodding, tossing a smile over his shoulder. “Looks nice.”

“I know. I did it.” He tasted of hair-spray when Nicky bent to kiss his shoulder. “Have fun tonight. Where you going?”

“Dunno. Shane's idea, so probably end up at Lillies.” Nicky watched him reach for his toothbrush. “Did you just come over to do my hair?” Nicky shrugged.

“Good enough reason?”

“Maybe.” Mark snorted. “The way things are going, we might as well live together.” Nicky chuckled.

“You could move into my shit flat.”

“It's not shit.” It came out muffled with foam. Mark spat into the sink. Spat again. “No, definitely too early for that. Just saying. You're always bloody under foot.”

“Can't get rid of me.” Nicky grinned, caught a pepperminty kiss when Mark leaned across to wipe his mouth on a handtowel. “You're right about it being too early. Doesn't mean I don't want to see you all the time.”

“Yeah.” Mark kissed him again. “Still want to meet my folks?” Nicky nodded. They'd been sort of planning it for a few weeks, but not managed to commit to anything. Nicky understood. It was a big step. “This weekend?”

“Working all this weekend. Sorry.” He bit his lip, trying to think. “Can do weekend after?”

“Weekend after sounds fine.” He saw Mark relax a little, knew he was glad he didn't have to do it so soon. Nicky wondered if he should be insulted that Mark wanted to delay it, but couldn't be bothered. Part of him had wondered if they'd ever get to this step at all.

He had to leave soon after. It was getting on, and he had the late one, starting at six through to two in the morning. Mark wasn't going out yet for hours, but apparently they were all going to meet at Kian's for dinner, and Nicky had wanted to see him beforehand. They'd been busy all week, had barely seen each other, but where before Nicky had been worried he was pleased to see that Mark was doing better, wasn't looking so drawn and had apparently started sleeping through the night. It was comforting, being wanted instead of needed, though he suspected he was falling more in love as a result, that it was really going to hurt when he hit the bottom.

He didn't mind. Didn't mind at all.

 


	17. Chapter 17

There was something to be said for the VIP area. When Mark had been younger, when they'd just started out, he'd promised himself he wouldn't become one of _those_ people. The ones that demanded things, and had a special table, and blocked people out with velvet ropes and bodyguards. He still felt a bit that way, in fairness, but these days it was more convenience than being a diva.

They'd done it a few times, gone out on the lash the old way, and it had been a disaster. Fans crowding them in, not able to take two steps without someone yelling something stupid or trying to size up, and every five seconds a camera going off in their faces for an unflattering picture to appear in the papers the next morning.

This, at least, was a bit more chilled. Up on one of the balconies, overlooking the dancefloor. One of the waitresses had just brought over shots. Bryan was laughing, his arm draped around Shane's shoulders. Kian was smirking into the cocktail he was finishing.

Dinner had been grand. Mark had forgotten what it was like, just the four of them sat around a table, having a beer and a laugh, eating the meal Kian had put together and ribbing him when he'd started talking about how he was trying this new thing with rosemary and onion, and was it alright? Now Mark felt more comfortable than he had in ages, a drink in his hand and his best friends around him.

His phone beeped in his pocket. He peeked at it, allowing himself a quick smile when he saw a message from Nicky, telling him to have a good night. Almost ten, so he'd be just about to start work. When he looked up, Bryan was winking at him.

Mark laughed shyly and began to tap out a reply.

 

*

 

“Ready?”

Nicky looked up. Just gone ten. Georgina was crossing her arms, leaned against his desk. He hadn't even noticed her arrive, had been too caught up looking at his phone. Mark seemed to be having a good night, though he was obviously busy. Nicky wasn't entirely sure where he was. Probably end up at Lillies, he'd said, though that didn't necessarily mean anything.

“Ready.” He tucked his phone away, turned to silent, and reached for his walkie. Georgina was already kitted. “Beat?”

“Dublin central. There's a gig letting out of The Point in the next hour.” Nicky nodded. He knew the drill well enough. People would stream into the city, buzzed from the concert, and want to get rehydrated with too many vodkas. It was usually manageable enough, though it did depend on the band.

It was just some indie rock band Nicky had never heard of, in the end. They were on site before it let out. It was already crowded, Saturday night well under way. Nicky nodded at a couple of the other lads, got waves back. Everybody on it, apparently. He wasn't surprised.

They passed Lillies just before eleven. It was an odd feeling, being so close, not able to make contact. There was no point sending a text. Nicky was on the job, couldn't exactly stop for a chat, but there was something about it that made him smile, knowing Mark might be in there having a good time.

“What are you smirking at?”

“Nothing, just...” Georgina was looking at him suspiciously. “Having a good week.”

“Good for you.” Their walkies crackled. The Point had just let out. “Coffee before it goes crazy?”

He nodded, and they headed for the convenience store across the street.

 

*

 

“City's mental tonight,” Bryan announced. He'd just come in from a smoke. Mark supposed they should have brought security with them, were usually supposed to when it was the four of them together, but it felt better without. It was always awkward, dragging some suit around who kept looking at his watch like he was wondering when these lads would calm down and go home to bed. “Dunno what's happening, but it's packed.” He collapsed into a chair. “We staying here?”

“Might as well.” Lillies was busy too, had started to flood with people just after eleven. The VIP area was even getting crowded, room made for some band who was in town that night. Mark hadn't heard of them. “More drinks?”

“Read my mind.” Bryan waved over a waitress, who smiled and nodded, then laughed when Bryan said something, though what it was was lost in the music. “Vodka Red Bulls for everyone!” he announced. “Kian, no biting.”

“I don't...” Kian crossed his arms when they all laughed. “Fuck off.”

“Nearly took a piece out of my ear last time,” Mark teased. Shane still had scars on his arse from when Kian had tackled him at Equinox the year before. “I know I'm delicious, but...”

“You're a fucking minger, is what you are. It's why you never have a girl to shag.” Kian punched him on the shoulder.

“He's just got good taste, Kian. Isn't going after every slapper with an open fly.”

“Fuck off Bryan.” Kian scowled. Shane was laughing. “I'm with Jodi now, anyway.”

“And a good lass she is too. I just hope you got tested before you stuck it anywhere near her.” Bryan winked. Mark laughed. Shane was giggling as well. “Ah, you crazy kids. Good for you. We're all of us sorted, now. Settled down.”

“Three of us, anyway,” Shane corrected.

“Yeah, right. Three of us.” Bryan gave Mark an apologetic look, though it was blurry at best. The tray of shots came. They all knocked them back quickly.

“Want me to set you up, mate?” Kian asked. “Know a few lasses.”

“I'm okay. Thanks.” Mark looked away. Bryan kept trying to catch his eye. It wasn't helping. “Like, I've been dating a bit, but...”

“Since when? You dark horse!” Shane crowed. “Who was it?”

“Just... you know. Dates. Went to lunch and that.”

“Ah, bless ya.” Kian pulled him into a hug without warning. Mark went, laughing. “Good for you, mate. Sure they're lucky to have ya.” A kiss pressed hard to his cheek. More drunk than Mark had realised, apparently, though Kian had had a few before they'd left. Shane was already waving the waitress back over, pointing at the four empty shots. She nodded and took the tray. It came back with eight full ones on it.

“Let's get stuck in,” Shane suggested. “Celebration.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“Dunno. Everything's grand, isn't it?” He picked one up in either hand, grinned at the other lads. “Come on, then. Whoever needs carrying home pays for the cab.”

Mark rolled his eyes and reached for a shot.

 

*

 

Nicky sighed. He really did hate nights like this. Crowds weren't bad, and neither were drunk people, but a combination of the two always led to far too many cringeworthy moments. Georgina had just finished explaining to a lass's friends that really needed to take her home, that there was no excuse for dragging her almost unconscious body up and down Grafton Street while she vomited all over herself, nagging her about ruining their good time.

Georgina was good with the lasses. Maybe it was a woman thing, but she was generally able to talk some bloody sense into them. Nicky helped them get the drunk girl into a cab, reminded them to take her to the hospital if she got worse, and sent them on her way. She'd probably be fine, he suspected, just seriously sorry for herself in the morning.

They began to head back the other way. Security were in the process of ejecting two lads from a bar, and they lingered for a moment to make sure no trouble was about to be started until the culprits staggered off without much complaint.

“Remember when that was us?” Georgina asked.

“What, getting thrown out of bars?”

“No. But like... young, stupid, full of vodka.” They stepped aside for a large group. The last girl tipped them a wink and said “tanksh offishers, you're bleedin' legends”. Nicky nodded back, laughing. “Now I go out and all I can do is watch everyone else, make sure they're not about to do something stupid. Went out with Cecelia the other night, and I spent half the time checking the exits.”

“Professional,” Nicky chuckled. “No, I know the feeling. It gets to you.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Nicky, erm...” She bit her lip. “I'm looking at going for a promotion, maybe. The sergeant said he'd put in a reference. Don't know if I'll get it, but...” She looked over. “If we're not partners any more, we'll still be friends, yeah?”

“Course we will. Hey...” He clapped her on the shoulder. Wanted to pull her into a hug, but now was probably not the best time and place. “That's brilliant. You deserve it.”

“Ta.” She was looking more relaxed now, a smile edging through the nervous frown. “It'll be more normal hours, you know? I've been all over the place lately, and it'd be nice to feel more... I don't know. Settled.” She touched his hand. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Just... I mean, it's probably stupid seeing as I have a boyfriend, but... you're the first person I told. I mean, you're always the first person I tell.”

“Ditto.” He squeezed her hand quickly. She nodded. He wanted to say something, suddenly. Felt like an arsehole for keeping a secret, even though it wasn't technically his secret to keep. Before he could start, though, his walkie blared a round of static.

Disturbance, up at Lillies. He felt his heart skip.

Nicky began to run.

 

*

 

“Bryan, just...”

“No.” Bryan struggled. Mark was trying to hold him back, Shane on the other arm. Kian was running interference, though it was probably too late for that. He wasn't sure who'd started it, but some prick from the other band had said something derisive about fucking boyband sellouts, and then sniped comments had turned into a punch.

Mark was fairly certain Bryan was going to have a black eye in the morning.

“Get the fuck off!”

“Yeah, let him go.” The drummer was a twat. Mark didn't hear what he said next, but suddenly Kian was running at them too, fists cocked. He swung, missed. Security were trying to push people apart. Kian tried to bite one of them, got yanked into an arm-lock for his troubles.

Shane had let go. Bryan was flailing, while Mark tried to hang onto his other arm. He was too drunk for this, wasn't entirely sure what was going on, except they didn't need to end up in the papers for killing some shit band nobody'd remember in a year anyway.

He heard the smash of glass, saw one of the other lads coming at them with a broken champagne bottle.

He ducked.

 

*

 

It was bedlam. There were others already on the scene, though the crowd on the dancefloor were making it hard to get through. Security were trying to clear a path, but it took a moment to make space. Six of them all up, Nicky at the front, heart in his mouth. VIP area upstairs, apparently, some fight that had broken out. He crested the top of the stairs into the balcony, four other lads and Georgina on his heels.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. It was over, apparently. Two bands looking rather sorry for themselves, each squashed at either end of the balcony. There was broken glass on the carpet. Bryan had ice on his eye, wrapped in a bartowel. One of the lads on the other side was unconscious on the sofa.

He caught Mark's eye, for the barest moment, saw a look of surprise. Ignored it.

“Right,” he sighed. “What happened?”

 

*

 

Nicky was over getting someone else's statement, notepad out and nodding professionally. He looked nice, in his uniform, belt and walkie-talkie and all the rest of it. He didn't look like Nicky. Mark wanted to cry, a little. Wanted to throw up more. Nicky had barely looked at him since he'd arrived, and while Mark knew they couldn't be all over each other, it did hurt. In ways he hadn't expected.

“We meet again.” Georgina, crouching down in front of him. Mark managed a weak smile. “How you doing?”

“I'm okay.” He glanced at Nicky again. “Sorry about all this.”

“Looks like it's over now.” She was looking at him kindly. “Look, just because he's not over here it doesn't mean he doesn't care, okay?” Mark looked up in surprise. “He's doing his job. If he takes your statement it could be a conflict of interest. In fairness, he probably shouldn't be involved at all.”

“I...” He swallowed. “Erm... what?”

“I'm not stupid,” she chuckled. Mark felt his cheeks begin to burn, that rush of wanting to be sick coming back. “He didn't tell me, so don't worry about that, but I've known him long enough to know when he's smitten with someone, and your name got dropped very quickly around the time he mentioned he had a boyfriend.”

“Oh.” He glanced towards Nicky, who was busy talking to Kian. “Erm.” He sighed. “Okay, yeah. Well.” She looked like she was trying not to laugh. “Are we in trouble?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out. Honestly? No. I don't think so.” A hand touched his knee. “There weren't any damages, really, unless Lillies decides to press charges. Bit of a scuffle, no harm done. Your man over there will definitely be getting attempted assault with a weapon, though.” She flipped open her notepad. “Want to tell me what happened? From the top?”

Mark took a deep breath.

 

*

 

Kian was plastered. Nicky had paused in his questioning once to let him heave into an empty ice-bucket, and he didn't look well at all, very green and swaying slightly in his seat, head rested in his hands, though he kept looking up occasionally, angry tears stood in his eyes.

Nicky finished taking his statement. It was all a stupid mess, really. Sniping at each other, lads being pricks, and then it had gotten too serious and punches had been thrown. Nicky wasn't new to a bunch of lads letting off a bit of steam, but it had all turned rather serious when the tattooed twat on the other side had decided to go charging in with a bottle.

“Are we in trouble?”

“That's not up to me.” He'd already gotten word that Lillies weren't going to press any charges as long as the damages were paid for, and there weren't even very many of those, just an expensive bottle of champagne and a chair that had broken when somebody had tripped over it. Kian's bottom lip trembled.

“Did the paps see?”

“I don't know.” He sighed. “You're not being held, okay?” Kian managed a very sorry nod. “Are you hurt at all? Do you need medical attention?”

“No,” Kian breathed. He looked up, biting his lip. Then his eyes narrowed, cleared as much as they were able. “Have we met?”

“Briefly, yeah,” Nicky chuckled. “The thing at the airport. You lads sent me concert tickets.”

“Oh, yeah!” A surprised grin flashed across a pale mouth. “Fuck. Right. Erm...”

“Nicky.”

“Nicky. Yeah. Holy shit, Mark, do you...” He waved, though Mark was busy talking to Georgina and didn't look over. “Shane, mate.” He looked determined to tell someone, in a vaguely fluthered way. “Shane, yeah? Look. It's Nicky.” Shane shrugged. He didn't look much better than Kian did. “Airport Nicky, the policeman!”

“What?”

“From the airport. When Mark got lost.”

“Oh... yeah. Shit.” Shane grinned. He sank down beside Kian. Two for the price of one, apparently. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Nicky laughed. “Someone taken your statement yet?”

“Yeah, the man...” He gestured at nothing much. “That one.”

“Good. Well, it was good to see you again, despite the circumstances.” They both looked at their shoes. Nicky liked them immediately, out of their element and acting like two ashamed children. Younger than himself, probably, though he knew Mark was the baby. They always looked put together, made up, but now they looked completely lost, in a way that made Nicky think of how Mark got sometimes, as though he'd suddenly realise how big everything was, how little control he had. He wondered if they'd get a dressing down from a suit the next day.

“Can I go home? I think I'm going to be sick again.”

“Soon,” Nicky promised. He glanced at Georgina, who gave him a thumbs up. She was talking to Bryan now. Mark was in the corner, watching he and the other two carefully, like he thought Nicky was spilling all their secrets. “Let my partner finish with Bryan, and we'll get you on your way. Have you got a safe ride home?”

“My fiancee's going to pick us up,” Shane mumbled.

“My cousin,” Kian added. “They're the same person.”

“Brilliant.” He was sure she was going to be ecstatic to be coming out at three in the morning to drive these four idiots home. “Give me a minute, okay? I'll sort out clearance.” He pushed away. The other band were almost done too, though the idiot with the bottle was being taken into custody. Within five minutes there was a back entrance sorted with the venue manager, who didn't want the publicity any more than the lads did. When he jogged back everyone was finished up.

He fell into step alongside Mark as security led them down the back corridor. Shane was on his phone, trying to sort things out with his fiancee, and Mark was looking at his feet.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Mark murmured. “Sorry.”

“I'm sure there's a great story,” Nicky whispered back, saw the hint of a smile. “I'm off at six. Let me know when you're sober and I'll come round to hear it.” They began to head down a narrow staircase that forced them into single file, though he did put his hand on Mark's lower back for a moment as they changed positions.

The night was cold. Nobody about. They waited until a car pulled up, a tired and annoyed-looking blonde woman behind the wheel, and Nicky helped them in, saw Bryan wink at him on the way past. He rolled his eyes in reply. The bigger lad had almost definitely started it, but there was no point saying anything now, not with them on their way to being out of Nicky's hair.

“Thanks,” Kian said. Nicky nodded back.

The car rumbled off into the night.

 


	18. Chapter 18

“If I said I'm never drinking again, would you believe me?”

“Not for a second,” Nicky chuckled. Mark looked positively wrecked. Nicky considered making a joke about celebrities wearing their sunglasses indoors, and then decided not to. The blanket around his shoulders was quite the look, hunched on the sofa with his shades dropped on and a black coffee sloshing against the sides of a mug gripped too tight in shaking hands. Nicky sat down beside him. Mark flinched away. “I'm glad you're not hurt.”

“I'm fine. Just...” He was trembling slightly. “I'm sorry. About last night.”

“Small world, I guess. I'm sorry I couldn't talk to you.”

“It's okay. Georgina explained it to me.” Nicky looked up in surprise. “Conflict of interest, or whatever. I didn't mean to put you in that position. Bryan was just being Bryan, and that other lad was a wanker and...” He must have seen Nicky's shock. “Georgina knows.”

“Oh.” Nicky didn't know quite what to say. “You told her?”

“No. She told me.” Mark coughed slightly, put the mug down. Nicky shook his head in disbelief. He supposed it made sense. She'd known about that first kiss, and Nicky hadn't really mentioned Mark since they'd gotten serious, just talked about a nameless boyfriend she never got to meet. Maybe he hadn't been as clever as he'd thought.

“Are you okay with that?”

“I think so. I like her, anyway. She's nice.”

“She is.” He'd already decided to send her flowers for putting up with him. “I like your friends too, even if they are idiots.” He nudged Mark gently. “How's everyone recovering?”

“Shane was still asleep. Bryan was going to go to the doctor today, when he felt well enough. His eye was pretty bruised.” Mark pursed his lips. “He and Kian were arguing when I left.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They always kind of do. Kian's so serious, and Bryan can be a bit...” Mark gestured slightly. “I don't know. The opposite of serious. They butt heads a lot.” Nicky nodded. “Not to say Kian didn't swing too, but this'll turn into a lecture. He was saying 'professionalism' a lot.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, figured I'd better leave them to it.” The sunglasses were pulled off and tossed on the table. Mark rubbed his red eyes with one trembling hand. “I'm fucked.”

“I can tell.” A glance at his watch proved it was almost eight. “I haven't slept all night either. Want to do that for a while, and then we can go get a fry up?” Mark pulled a face. “You say that now, but you'll be dying for some sausages in a few hours.”

“Maybe.” Rueful smile. Nicky kissed sweaty hair. “Might throw up first?”

“Go on,” Nicky laughed. “I'll start warming up the bed.”

 

*

 

Mark didn't know how he particularly felt about being outside, but the breeze was definitely helping with the hangover and the smell of sausages was a good start as well. They hadn't gone far, just the cafe on the corner, his sunglasses and cap on partly to hold off the sunlight and partly so he wouldn't be recognised. It was working so far. Nicky had offered to make something at home, but there had been nothing in the house, and after he'd woken up, thrown up again, and had a shower, he'd decided that a walk might not be such a bad idea.

Nicky had changed into a t-shirt and plain jeans. Things like that were starting to pop up in Mark's flat, almost without him noticing. An extra toothbrush, Nicky's brand of aftershave. He wondered if maybe he should feel panicked, if it was a sign they were moving too fast, but considering the unique arrangement of their relationship it did make a lot of sense. They spent almost all their time indoors, or sleeping over. It would be silly Nicky having to run home every morning for a shave.

He'd left a few things at Nicky's as well, in fairness. Not on purpose, he didn't think, but Nicky had given him a shelf in the closet for some pyjamas and tracksuits, which had been helpful in the winter when it had been too cold to sleep in his boxers. It was comforting, feeling like he had a place there. Like he could just go there whenever he needed and there would always be a sense that he belonged.

“You okay?” Nicky asked. Mark looked up. “You've gone all quiet.”

“Just thinking. Hungover.” He forced a smile. Nicky nodded in understanding, a smirk darting at his mouth. Mark scowled back until he felt a foot kick his gently under the table. “You erm...” He chewed his lip, trying to think how to phrase this. “Last night, when you were talking to Shane and Kian...”

“I didn't tell them anything.”

“No. I know.” He breathed out slowly. “I was watching you, and I know I was drunk and everything but... I appreciated what you did. Like, I know it sounds silly but you're really good at your job, and I know I've only seen it twice, really, and I know I bang on about what I'm doing like it's important but...”

“What are you going on about?” Nicky chuckled. Mark grimaced.

“Just... you don't get enough credit. You took care of everyone, and you made sure we got out okay, and you were even good with those other wankers and I know you wanted to do football, and do singing, and all the other things, but I'm glad you're doing what you're doing because you help people all the time and you're really kind and I'm really proud of you.” It came out in a rush. He saw Nicky's teeth catch on a smile, saw a blush spill into his cheeks. “So... yeah.”

“Oh.” Nicky ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks, then. I mean, it's not fancy and I don't get paid as well as you, but... I mean, I like doing it.”

“Good. Well...” He didn't quite know what else to say. How to convey that he felt like he didn't do anything, himself, not compared to Nicky. It all felt a bit pointless, suddenly. Worrying about chart positions and photo shoots, and he didn't even know how to handle himself when things got out of hand. Nicky had direction. Most of the time Mark just felt like he was being dragged.

“What you're doing matters too,” Nicky said. Mark shook his head, laughing.

“I sing songs other people wrote.”

“I know. But it means something to the fans. They wouldn't turn out to see you otherwise.” Mark shrugged. “I've seen some of the comments online, that a song helped them feel better, or helped them through a rough patch. Or like... maybe they've made friends with other fans because of you. I don't think you can underestimate that.”

“We lie to them, though. All the time. They think we're perfect, but...”

“Nobody's perfect,” Nicky pointed out. “I remember when George Michael came out. Or even Stephen Gately a few years back. Maybe they're just musicians, but when you look up to them already it's nice to see them there. For them to be visible. It's comforting.”

“Boyzone were winding down by then, though.” This was too much to think about when he was this hungover. He rested his forehead on one hand, trying to hold back the headache. “Why does it have to be me? It's not my job.”

“I didn't say it was. That's your business. I just think you underestimate how important you are.” Nicky reached out to steal a sausage off his plate. Mark let it go with a scowl. “You're important to me.”

“Ditto.” He stole a piece of Nicky's bacon in retaliation. Got a wink in reply. “Still want to meet my parents next weekend?”

“If you want me to.” Nicky stood. “For now, though, I'm going to use the bathroom.” He touched Mark's nape on the way past, soft fingertips that drew a smile onto his mouth, though he did glance around quickly to make sure no-one had seen. “If you see a waiter, order us another jug of water. You need to get hydrated.”

“Thanks mam.”

“Someone's got to take care of you.” He blew a kiss as he backed away, then sauntered off, leaving Mark sat smiling at his breakfast, Nicky's touch still tingling on the back of his neck.

 

*

 

Word had already gotten around when Nicky arrived the next afternoon for his shift. He supposed it was quite funny from the outside, he and Georgina managing to be involved in two incidents concerning the same boyband. One of the lads asked when the gift basket was due, if there was going to be more caviar coming. Nicky stuck out his tongue while Georgina laughed, arms crossed over her chest.

“They've been on about it since I got here.”

“I get that feeling.” He hopped up on the edge of the desk. It wasn't really the place to talk, in the bullpen with everyone else around, but he gave her a careful smile nonetheless. “He told me what you said.”

“What was that, then?”

“Just...” She gave him a knowing wink. “Sorry I didn't tell you. It wasn't really up to me.”

“I figured.” Two of the lads started singing Mandy at the top of their lungs. She threw a stapler at them, got a round of laughter when it clattered off the wall opposite. Nicky caught it awkwardly when it was hurled back. “You're really in it, aren't you?”

“Up to my eyeballs,” Nicky sighed. “He's just...” There wasn't a good enough place to hide his smile. “Thanks. For the other night. I felt like an arsehole not going over straight away, but...”

“Well, we couldn't have you two making out in the middle of your shift,” she chuckled. “He's a sweetheart. Kept saying he was sorry, and asking if they were in trouble. Kept looking at you, as well.” She nudged him. “I think the whole thing's completely mental, but I do like him.”

“He likes you too,” Nicky admitted. She rolled her eyes. “Thanks. Maybe we can hang out one night or something? Three of us?” It'd probably be good for Mark, as well, get him out of the weird celebrity bubble and actually talking to normal people he didn't have to hide from, like a normal couple.

“Sounds good.” They smiled at each other. One of the lasses who had just come in shouted out something about 'Westlife groupies'. Georgina gave her the finger without looking up, got a jeer in respose. “You're a mess, babe.”

“Yeah.” He pushed away from the desk. “I know.”

 

*

 

“Lads.” They all looked up. Louis. Bryan stood from where he was bent over a chart of the stage.

“Thought you were in London, Louis?”

“I was. Had to come to Dublin for business.” He had that smile on, the one that hid whatever the hell he was thinking. Mark shifted in his chair when it fixed on him for a moment. They all glanced at each other. The thing at Lillie's maybe? It had been almost a week, and the expected bollocking hadn't yet been forthcoming. It hadn't made press. Mark had wondered if the other band would say something for publicity, but figured they probably didn't want to be known as the hardcore punk wankers who'd gotten arrested for losing to a boyband.

“I'd like to talk to Mark, please.”

He looked up in surprise. The others were looking at him, eyebrows raised, though Mark dutifully trooped out into the empty hallway, Kian and Shane throwing worried glances over their shoulder, Bryan looking like he wanted to follow in case a fight was about to be had.

The door closed. Louis looked at him grimly.

“I've had a call from The Sun.”

His stomach dropped.

“I'd like to know what I should say in response to these.” A piece of paper was held up. Photo paper, a little glossy. Mark felt his throat close. He and Nicky, sat across from each other at a cafe the other morning, plates and coffees between them, Mark's cap on and sunglasses on, Nicky's foot kicking him gently under the table.

He didn't know what to say. Felt suffocated, for the first time in months, willing down the urge to put both arms up to protect his head. He wanted to run. Wanted to pull his knees to his chest and curl into a ball. Wanted...

“Who's this?”

“Just a friend,” Mark said numbly.

Louis didn't believe him. Not for a second. “What about this one, then?” He pulled out another picture. Nicky's hand stroking Mark's neck quickly before he'd skipped off to the bathroom.

“Leaf in my hair.”

Nicky blowing him a kiss. Nicky laughing as they walked along, Mark smiling shyly. A little grainy. Zoomed in from a distance, probably. The silence settled like soup. Mark couldn't breathe. “I don't care either way, you know, but I can't help if you don't tell me the truth.” He gave Mark a thin grimace. Mark resisted the urge to cover his blazing cheeks. Louis folded his arms. “We can direct this if you give me enough warning, but...”

“Nothing to say,” Mark said quietly. It hurt to get the words out. Louis nodded slowly.

“Right.” He began to pack the papers away. “Mind if I stay for the rest of the meeting, then? We've got a tour coming up after all.” His eyes lingered on Mark for a long moment. “Come back in when you're ready.”

The door closed behind him. Mark scrubbed his stinging eyes. His whole head felt like a balloon, pressure behind his cheeks, pinching into a headache.

The others stared at him when he finally managed to walk back in. He ignored them, just nodded politely when Louis handed him a full glass, trying to sip enough water to wash the fire out of his cheeks and the tangle out of his stomach.

 

*

 

“Fuck,” Nicky whispered, saw Georgina's eyes dart to him. Shift barely two hours in and his phone had rung nine times. He'd picked up the tenth a moment after he'd seen all the previous calls, fear clawing up the inside of his throat. Now the story was pouring out and he didn't know what to...

“I don't know what to do,” Mark said tearfully. Nicky swallowed hard.

“Okay.” He leaned his cheek against the cool glass of the passenger's side door, trying to think. Georgina looked over again from behind the wheel. “Okay, we'll sort this out. It's okay.” Sucked in a breath. “They don't have anything, though?”

“No. Or...” Mark hesitated. “I mean, it's just us eating, but it looks...”

“Then they don't have anything.” Nicky wasn't so sure. Insinuation could be more powerful than proof. “I'm at work, babe. I'll come over after and we'll talk about it.”

“Okay. Yeah. Or...” He heard Mark gulp. “No. Better not. If they see...”

“Mark...”

“You'd better not come round for a bit,” Mark said softly. “Maybe it's better if we spend some time apart. Until I figure out what I want to do.” He went silent for a long time. Nicky could hear him breathing. Didn't know what to say through his shock. “I'm erm... I'm sorry. I love you but... maybe we shouldn't be together. Don't... call me.”

The line went dead.

“What's going on?” Georgina asked.

Nicky shook his head, not sure what to say.

 


	19. Chapter 19

“You coming down to breakfast?”

Mark shrugged. He didn't know that he had the energy. Bryan was stood over him, arms crossed. Mark blinked at the ceiling, though his eyes felt heavy. Everything felt grey. Slow. Like someone had punctured the world with a needle and drawn out all the colour and light. Bryan frowned.

“You should eat.”

“I'm okay.” His hands clenched into fists under the blanket. “I'm fine. I just...” He swallowed. “I'm just gonna get some more sleep.”

“Right,” Bryan sighed. “Well, I'm off, then.” Mark nodded absently. The airport. Kerry was a week in the jungle, and he was headed to Australia to be there in case she got voted out. It had all been a bit sudden. Mark knew Kian was annoyed, Bryan disappearing in the middle of promotion on a whim, but Mark figured this sort of thing didn't happen every day, even if it was short notice. There was talk she was in with a chance to win the thing, and they'd all been keeping up to date on what was going on. “Kids are with my folks, I've told them to call me if anything happens. My phone's always on, is what I'm saying.” There was a tense pause. The mattress heaved as Bryan sank down beside him. “Mark...”

“I'm fine.”

“Look, sometimes it doesn't work out. I know it hurts now, but...”

Mark shook his head. Didn't know how to talk about it. That he'd done this to himself, that he hadn't known what else to do. He'd gotten a couple of texts from Nicky the first few days, asking if they could please talk about it, but he didn't know how to, not when there was nothing to say except he couldn't. Nicky would say they'd work it out, that maybe it wasn't so bad people knowing, and Mark would probably believe him, let himself be swayed, and he couldn't...

Two weeks. It felt like a lifetime.

He'd gone to his parents' place alone. Sat there in silence and pretended to smile. Now Westlife were off around the country on the single promotional run, and every day on the bus, squashed in with the others while he didn't talk about it, was absolute torture.

He'd thought about calling his therapist. Didn't know what to say to her. Nicky had made all his appointments for him anyway, and it felt too much like giving in. Like acknowledging that anything made sense other than what was going on in his own head. Like anybody else could possibly understand.

“Talk to Shane and Kian, if you want to,” Bryan suggested. “You know they're worried too.”

“I'm fine,” he said again. Didn't need to talk to them. He couldn't rub it in their faces, make it their problem as well. He'd sort this out on his own. Was sorting this out on his own. There was a problem, and he wasn't going to bring everyone else down with him, even if the problem was him.

“Right, well.” Bryan stood up. “Have a good week, I guess.” He hesitated at the door. “Mark... it's not real, you know that right?” Mark didn't reply, couldn't say that it was real to him. Too real. Maybe Bryan didn't mind about everyone else, but... “It isn't. It's a job. If I thought it was going to come between me and Kerry, I'd be out in a minute, and fuck this shit. Some things matter more.”

“Have a good time,” Mark managed. He heard Bryan sigh as the door shut.

Mark stared at the ceiling, not able to find the energy to do anything else.

 

*

 

“Anything?”

“No,” Nicky sighed. Georgina gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “No. I mean... I tried calling him, but he won't pick up. Won't reply to my texts either. I just...” He sighed. “I get it. It's been the most important thing from day one, the band, but like... I don't know. Maybe I thought I was worth more than that.” He felt an angry clog of sorrow lodge in his throat. “Probably stupid.”

“What, so they'd kick him out?”

“No. I don't think so. It's bigger than that.” His hands fists clenched under the desk. “We've only known each other six months, anyway. Been together less time than that. I wouldn't give up my job for someone I'd only known that long. That'd be ridiculous.”

“Have you tried going over to his place?”

“He doesn't want me to. It wouldn't help anything, doing it without his permission. Not if the whole point was for nobody to see us.” He leaned his chin on his palm. It was quiet in here. Early morning, most other people out on patrol or getting paperwork done. They'd just gotten back in themselves, had to file a report after a lass and her boyfriend had gotten into a screaming match in the McDonalds, and things had gotten out of control with all their friends deciding to get in. Two lads were detained, a girl just discharged. It was probably going to be a long night.

“What about his friends or family or someone?”

“I never met any of them.” Nicky sighed. Georgina's mouth pursed. It probably did sound bad, from the outside. Hadn't felt like it. Had been difficult, sure, but... “It wasn't personal. It was a weird circumstance.”

“What about the other Westlife lads?”

“I only ever really spoke to Bryan, and I definitely don't have any of their numbers.” He laughed bitterly. “Suppose I could send them some fanmail. Maybe I'll hear back in six months or so when they get around to opening it.”

“I'm sorry.” Nicky shrugged again. “Maybe... I mean, maybe it's a good thing. I'm not saying you didn't love him but it wasn't exactly healthy, was it?” Nicky looked up sharply, though she raised her hands in defence. “I'm not trying to be horrible. Really, but... like, where was it going to go, in the end? You were just going to hide forever, while he went off all over the world and you sat here in Dublin?” Nicky had to admit that he didn't know. That it had seemed futile thinking ahead, which probably hadn't been the best sign either.

“I don't want anyone else,” Nicky said helplessly. Georgina sighed.

“Yeah. I know.” She sank down beside him. Nicky sniffed. She was right, of course she was. Mark was sweet, sexy, completely wonderful in the right mood, but Nicky couldn't say that he'd ever felt supported. Not in that way where you knew someone would drop everything if you needed them. He'd never expected Mark to swoon over him, but...

“Maybe you're right,” he admitted. He looked at her, got a gentle smile in return. “Maybe...” He didn't know how to finish that sentence. How to verbalise the utter uncertainty he felt. He'd just wanted to help. Seen a lost, tired soul and managed to find something in it that reflected the way he felt himself sometimes, like the undertow was deeper than he could manage, that no matter what he did it wasn't in his control. That where he'd ended up was at the other end of where he'd meant to be, but that if he didn't try his hardest he'd lose that too.

He finished his shift in near silence. Got home just before dawn and collapsed into bed, so tired he ached.

Sleep was easier. He fell into it as quickly as possible, wrapping it around himself like armour.

 

*

 

The radio host was a nice enough fellow, as much as any of them were. Standard questions. You're touring soon, what dates, how's the album. Hey Whatever was due to come out as a single in the next week. They'd been performing it all week, and where once Mark had hated Mandy, at the moment he was almost glad for it. At least if he was performing that instead, he wasn't thinking about...

“And here's your new single...”

Mark smiled grimly as it started up. They hadn't asked what the thing with Louis had been about. He assumed they didn't want to know. Probably easier, feigning ignorance. Nobody wanted to think about the hole in the boat, not as long as it kept itself above the waterline.

“And that was Hey Whatever!” They were back on air. Mark looked up, forced another smile. “You're going on tour soon, lads. Looking forward to it?”

“It's probably our favourite part, to be honest,” Kian said. “It's exhausting, but it gives us a chance to do what we really do, which is get up and sing, see all the fans.”

“Funny you mention the fans,” the host chuckled. “You've got some mental ones, right? I was looking at some of the comments online.”

“Some of them can be a bit intense,” Shane replied diplomatically, though there was a laugh in his voice. “Most of them are lovely. Just like... don't come to my house on Christmas morning, and we'll be fine, yeah?” The host laughed.

“We've had fans get tattoos of us,” Kian added. “And we get some interesting gifts from time to time.”

“They get excited, though. Girls crying and that?” They all nodded and laughed. “What about at the airport a while back? There was a story going around that you got mobbed.” Mark felt his stomach clench.

“That's a way to put it.” He saw Kian's gaze dart to him. “We didn't expect it ourselves. It got a bit out of hand. We were all fine in the end, but we're glad for the guard. Could have been someone hurt, otherwise.”

“I heard you had to be hospitalised?” Mark swallowed when he realised he was being spoken to. “Any broken bones?”

“Not that dramatic,” he forced himself to say. “No, we just got split up in the crowd. One of the officers had to take me out a side door, but that was all. I had a little scrape, nothing to worry about. I've had worse play-fighting with this lot,” he laughed. “All in one piece.” Blue eyes through the rearview mirror, softening while he'd tried not to burst into tears, Nicky talking to him until he could breathe again. They hadn't even known each other, but he'd felt safe. Like everything had slowed, just for a moment.

The interview finished a few minutes later. They threw to Mandy, then were out the door while it was still playing, into the hallway. Security guided them out the back while they signed CDs for a few minutes, got them back on the bus after they'd managed to at least say hello to most of them, though there were more coming. There wasn't much they could do about that, not when they needed to be in Newcastle by morning.

They got the TV on once they were on the move, caught the end of I'm A Celebrity. Only a couple of episodes to go, and it looked like Kerry was still flying through it. They all laughed and made fun of how jetlagged Bryan looked when he popped up for an interview in his hotel, a baseball cap pulled down over his messy hair and circles under his eyes.

He went to bed while they were still going through the channels, collapsing on the mattress and feeling the road speed beneath him, carrying him along so fast he didn't know how to catch up.

 

*

 

“How's Mark?”

“Not sure.” Nicky poked at his food. He supposed he should have expected him to be brought up. He'd not done it himself, had just wanted some time to feel normal, even if it was only eating dinner with his parents. “We haven't spoken.”

“Oh.” His mam bit her lip. “Everything okay, then?”

“Not sure,” he said again. She nodded.

“Like that?” His face probably told her everything she needed to know. “I'm sorry, then. He seemed a nice lad.”

“He was, yeah,” Nicky mumbled. He still didn't know if they were officially split up. Mark had said he loved him, then told him not to call. That had been almost a month ago. They were starting the tour in just over a month. He'd seen Bryan on the telly, welcoming Kerry out of the jungle. Seen Mark on the telly as well, smiling and singing away like he always did. It all felt surreal, like something that had happened to someone else.

They finished dinner without talking about it again. Nicky watched the football with his dad, joked with his brother about his schoolwork, and otherwise it was normal. It felt normal.

His place was too quiet when he got home. He checked his phone, not sure what he expected to see. Nothing, probably. Sat in front of the television. Mark's Playstation was still hooked up, had basically lived here for the last six months, though they hadn't really used it much for a while, not when there'd been other excuses to see each other, other activities to engage in.

Nicky picked up the controller. Turned it on. Stared at the screen, at the game. It asked if there was a player two. He turned it off, not able to look at it.

He wondered if Mark was okay.

 

*

 

Bryan had been odd since he'd gotten back. It took a while for Mark to notice. Bryan was usually odd, and Mark had spent more time sleeping than anything else the last few weeks. Tour rehearsals were in proper swing now. It was good, in a way. Something to focus on, and all the work and dancing at least tired him out.

“Bryan, watch your mark. You'll block Kian.”

“Sorry, Pris.” The smile didn't reach his eyes. Mark had heard Kian and Shane whispering, earlier. Bryan and Kian hadn't even fought, and they usually argued over something. It was almost like Kian was avoiding him, trying not to start anything. Probably a good thing. Bryan had looked on edge. Mark had seen him in the hallway before rehearsal, talking quietly on the phone, his face red and something stormy in his eyes, though he'd hung up when he'd seen Mark there, plastered on a smile. It hadn't been comforting.

They broke for lunch. Bryan didn't join them, said he'd come back in an hour, then stalked off, already fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“What's with Bryan?” Shane said, once they'd sat down. Kian shrugged.

“Not sure.” They were sat in the back of the cafe down the block. They'd asked Priscilla to join them, but she'd declined to come. Mark was almost glad. He couldn't see them having this conversation with her there. “Something's up with him, though.” He pursed his lips. “You don't think there's problems with him and Kerry, do you?” They all shrugged. “I mean, I know they went through a rough patch, but...”

“He told you?” Mark looked up. It had seemed like a secret, at the time.

“He got a bj from a stag night stripper,” Kian retorted. “I'm sure she wasn't ecstatic to have that in the papers.” Mark nodded, looking away. Shane sighed.

“Maybe we just be careful around him for a bit,” he suggested. “You know how he gets sometimes. And with the tour starting soon...”

“Circle the wagons,” Kian agreed. “United front.” He looked at Mark. “Do you know anything?”

“No. I mean... he's been weird, but...” He leaned his chin in his hand. Shane was tearing at the corner of a napkin, the way he did when he got nervous. “He erm... he said some stuff a few months ago. Like, he was angry about Mandy, but it's like you said. He gets that way.” He chewed his lip, trying to think. “Should we talk to him, maybe?”

“Not sure,” Shane admitted. “Leave it until he settles, maybe. We don't need a fight.” Mark nodded, and they all stopped talking when the waitress brought over their food. Mark stared at the plate, suddenly not hungry. Kian picked up a chip, nibbled it like he wasn't sure he wanted it either, then put it back down.

“Leave it til he settles,” he echoed. They both nodded. “Alright. Yeah.” He picked up the chip again.

They ate in silence.

Headed back to the studio. Bryan wasn't there yet.

An hour later, he still wasn't.

Twenty minutes after that, Mark got a text saying he'd gotten caught up, and to continue on without him.

The three of them finished rehearsal, uncomfortable glances exchanged between them, a space between Shane and Kian that felt far too big for one person to fill.

He got another text just as they finished, asking them round once rehearsal was done.

The car ride over was quiet.

Bryan answered the door with a grim look on his face.

 

*

 

It was early afternoon, when Nicky woke. He'd fallen asleep at some point after he'd gotten home from the night shift. Hadn't meant to, except the week had been crazy and he was knackered, suspected he was coming down with a touch of a cold on top of it, which wasn't surprising with too much work and not enough sleep, patrolling in the drizzling rain that had been falling all week.

He pushed himself off the sofa, disoriented in the light, and began to stagger to the bedroom. His phone was beside the bed. He picked it up, meaning to set the alarm, and blinked when he saw the number of messages there, mostly from Georgina, a few from his mam as well. Scrubbed a hand over his eyes while he opened the first one.

_Have you seen the news?_

He stood, dull panic starting to trickle into his bloodstream. Grabbed the remote as soon as he was back in the living room.

It was on the second channel. Breaking news. Press conference, just over an hour ago. Kian was holding a piece of paper, tears reddening his eyes, while Mark sat with his head bowed at the other end of the table, Bryan stood with a half-smile on his face. He turned the volume up, sure he was about to hear something he didn't want to. Something about Mark, about photos, about...

_...Bryan McFadden has sensationally quit boyband Westlife..._

Nicky sank onto the sofa in shock.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Mark's phone wouldn't stop ringing. None of theirs would. Shane had been the last to turn his to silent, had kept it on as long as possible in case there was a call from Gillian or his family, but in the end even he'd had to admit defeat. Now all three phones were in the corner on Kian's coffee table, tuned facedown so they wouldn't see the screens blinking.

Louis had just left, said he had to get a couple of things sorted and he'd be back that afternoon. He'd been on the phone half the time he'd been here, had been for the past week. To Simon, mostly, veering between hushed conversation and agitated shouting.

The press conference had been horrible. The whole week had been horrible. They'd tried. Everything. To convince Bryan to stay, to figure out how to resolve whatever was going on. Mark suspected he was the only one who had seen it. The look in Bryan's eyes, the one that said he'd already decided. That all that was left was to announce the thing, because there was no compromising, no going back.

Bryan was out.

Kian wouldn't stop crying. Shane kept pacing the room. He'd shouted, a little bit. Not at anyone, but just because he was pissed off. Mark understood.

“We do it without him,” Shane said. He'd already said it a hundred times. “We can do it without him. If he doesn't want to come, that's his fucking problem. I'm not...”

“I know,” Kian said softly. He ran his hands through his hair. Swallowed. “We're three weeks out from a tour, though.”

“Looks like you just got more leads,” Mark murmured. Kian's mouth stiffened. He sank down to sit beside Mark, on the sofa, leaning back against the cushions with a groan. Shane stilled in the middle of the room, clenched his fists, and then started pacing again.

“We can do this,” Shane said again. Mark nodded. He didn't know if it was true or not, but nothing was going to be helped by arguing. “Fuck him. He was a fucking pain in the arse, anyway. Probably better off without him.”

“You don't mean that,” Mark said. He couldn't stop shaking. Felt like his whole body was set so tense it was pushing in on itself. “He's our friend.”

“He's a fucking idiot.”

“He's only been gone two hours,” Mark pointed out. “It wasn't his fault. He had other stuff going on.”

“Well, that's his problem now.” Mark shrugged silently. This was apparently what happened. On the outs for less than a week and he was already dead to them. It didn't take much. He couldn't breathe, suddenly. Clenched his fists on his knees, trying not to cry. Kian sat up beside him, slumped forward, his face buried in his hands.

Mark couldn't be here, all of a sudden.

He left without a word. Heard Shane call out to him. He ignored it. Didn't think he had the energy to reply, anyway.

He settled behind the wheel of his car, not able to drive yet. Forehead rested on the steering wheel and trying to find anything to grab onto that didn't feel like it was slipping away from him, feeling suddenly more alone than he ever had in his life.

 

*

 

“They look weird.”

“Yeah,” Nicky agreed. Westlife were on the telly again. Had been all afternoon. He couldn't believe how big a story it was. There was a mention of it every other advert break, and it kept coming up as a bulletin. He'd just gotten into work, had come in a little early to get away from the television, but there it was again, on the set in the corner.

They did look weird. The photo had obviously been taken right after the press conference. Kian's eyes had deep rings under then, Shane was smiling grimly into the camera, and between them Mark, who looked more tired than Nicky had ever seen him. Unwell and not right, drawn in the face in a way that made his heart hurt. They looked small. Frightened.

“Looks like they've got a spot open, if you wanna audition again.” Nicky forced a smile at the comment, heard the others laugh.

“When I can hang around here with you, Mick? I'd be missing out,” he shot back. Georgina was smiling sadly at him when he turned back to look at her. “What?”

“Nothing.” She looked up at the television again. Kian was reading the letter again, eyes red and voice breaking. Nicky couldn't stop looking at Mark. “You think he'll be okay?”

“It's none of my business.” Nicky was grateful when they threw to weather. Storms coming in the next few days, apparently, steady rain for the rest of the week.

“You tried to call him?”

“No.” He'd thought about it, decided against it. If Mark wanted to talk, it was up to him to reach out first. Nicky wasn't doing this any more. It wasn't his job to pick up the pieces, not if Mark didn't want him to. He honestly didn't know if he'd answer if Mark did call. If he had the energy to go through all this again every time Mark got spooked.

Maybe it was just better for them to be apart. Relationships were supposed to be about give and take, and Nicky couldn't, with any certainty, say what they had to offer each other apart from hiding, stress, and comfort that never lasted.

He missed Mark's laugh. Missed fingers curling shyly into his, and dancing in the kitchen at four in the morning, and watching terrible movies, and coming downstairs to find Mark making scrambled eggs, and snuggling on the balcony under a blanket on cold evenings.

He missed the Mark that had come to Christmas, and kissed him while his parents had done the dishes and his brother had dozed in the other chair, and carols had played on the telly. The one that felt like he'd belonged, a little bit, in Nicky's life.

Georgina touched his shoulder. Nicky expected her to say something. Plenty more fish. Chin up. It'll all be alright in the end.

“Tell me if there's anything I can do.”

“Thanks.” He crossed his arms, saw her smile at him, and managed a smile back. “Sorry. I'm being a pain in the arse.”

“Definitely.” She pushed away from the desk, laughing. He chuckled as well, saw her eyes twinkle. She'd always had pretty eyes.

Nicky's gaze drifted back to the television, waiting for Mark to come on again.

 

*

 

Mark couldn't sleep. Had tried, but his dreams had felt like they were choking him. Heavy, tangled messes that looked like smoke but felt like cheesewire, pinning across his throat, under his lungs, wrapping around his heart until he was clawing into the darkness, trying to find the way out.

He'd woken covered in sweat, not able to move. Stared at the ceiling for a long time, sure there were shadows in the dark, sure he was dying.

The house was dark. He didn't turn on the lights. Ended up walking around, up and down the stairs, through empty rooms that felt too big, the moonlight guiding him a scant glow coming through the windows. Found himself stood in the kitchen, head buried in his arms and bent over the kitchen island.

His phone was nearby. He'd left it downstairs. Had thought about turning it off, but hadn't wanted the sudden flood of messages when he inevitably turned it back on. He'd spoken to his parents, let them know what was going on, but apart from them, the lads, Louis and Simon, there was nobody he really cared to speak to, nobody who could offer anything apart from the same hysterical questions and well-meant advice, or interrogation to end up as quotes in the next morning's paper.

It was cold when he stepped out into the back-garden, the grass icy on his feet. It felt better out here. Clear and less like he was being penned in. He wanted to call Nicky, have him say something comforting. Call Bryan, who had always been just blunt enough to make Mark feel like at least somebody knew what was going on.

“What do I do?” he whispered. Didn't know if he expected a reply, but he closed his eyes anyway, wishing there were fingers stroking his hair, a voice that made perfect sense. Wanted the sweet smile he always got when he was losing himself a bit, and the hand in his, and arms around his waist while a heart beat against his chest.

Wanted Nicky's grin, and his stories, and the stupid, competitive tantrums he'd throw when Mark was beating him at FIFA, and hearing him sing in the shower, and soft moans that said Mark was doing the right thing, that Nicky wanted him, was taking him in one breath at a time, arching into him and saying yes, god, that's perfect. You're perfect. I love you.

He wanted to make Nicky feel like that. Knew he never could, especially not now, with everything tipped on it's end and teetering over the precipice. He couldn't do that to the other lads. Couldn't give his heart to Nicky while he was trying to hold everything else together.

He went back inside, resolved.

Sleep didn't come any easier.

 

*

 

Nicky supposed if he was really getting over Mark, he should probably start getting rid of his things.

Which he'd been planning entirely to do.

He hadn't meant to put the tracksuit on. It had just looked so warm, and it was a chilly morning. The fact that it still smelled of Mark was incidental, that it was far too big to be properly comfortable, especially considering Nicky had his own tracksuits that fitted much better.

He was maybe a little drunk, as well, which wasn't helping things, had been since he'd turned on the television and stumbled straight into an interview with the three lads, sat looking too spread out on Richard and Judy's sofa and smiling along, acting completely confident about the tour, which was starting in the next weeks. Tickets still available, though they were selling out fast. They were expected to be in Dublin in about six weeks time, after touring around Northern Ireland and the UK, and they were looking forward to showing everyone that they were just as good with three as they'd been four.

Mark had looked beautiful. Hair done, make-up flawless, smiling and laughing like he was all very excited about their new direction. Nicky had looked for cracks. Looked for some sign that he was missing Nicky back, that there was a hole in his heart that matched the one in Nicky's own.

He had the day off, didn't need to be anywhere. There were beers in the fridge, anyway, so here he was, sat on his tod at ten on a Friday morning, trying desperately not to cry into someone else's tracksuit.

Maybe Mark didn't care. Maybe he had just been slumming it, going through a phase. Using Nicky as a crutch for whatever ridiculous shit was going through his stupid head, and now he was done. Done with Nicky.

Nicky reached for another beer, trying to forget the helpless way Mark's voice had broken the last time they'd spoken. Like he was pleading for Nicky to make it better.

He couldn't make it better.

And it looked like Mark was fine on his own.

 

*

 

“Let's just do it again.”

“We don't need to,” Kian reasoned. He was already collecting his hoodie and sunglasses from the table in the corner. Two days until the tour started and Mark was sure they weren't ready. Couldn't be ready. It couldn't be that easy. They'd only been rehearsing a few hours. There was so much work to do and... “Take a break, mate. We've been running ourselves ragged.”

“I'm not...”

“I've got to head off, anyway,” Shane pointed out. “We'll pick it up again tomorrow with the dress-rehearsal, yeah? We're fine.”

“But...” It _couldn't_ be that easy. Not with Bryan gone. Moved closer together, the marks adjusted and the steps altered to fill the space that wasn't there. Rearranging all the harmonies and leads so Bryan's bits were covered. Kian was working his arse off, especially, though both he and Shane looked constantly panicked. This had to be _right._ “I'll keep going, then. I'll see you lads in the morning.”

Kian looked like he was going to argue, then he sighed, glanced at Shane. Mark felt his face flush.

“Fine,” Kian said. “Don't overdo it, yeah?” He looked at Shane again, and Mark saw a silent conversation pass between them. Then they were gone, the door swinging closed behind them.

It was late when he finally left. He felt wrecked. Sweaty and his heart going too fast. Ran his hands through his hair as he climbed into his car. When he finally made it home, his heart was still pounding. He couldn't sit still. Wanted to sleep. Managed half an hour of doze before the nightmares woke him again and he sat awake on the couch, head in his hands, trying to slow his breathing, trying to remember anything his therapist had told him about managing the panic attacks, though he hadn't seen her for months and really didn't want to talk to her now.

He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. Tried to find the point of equilibrium.

Nicky's arms around him, a kind voice whispering that he didn't need to do this, that he didn't need to carry all of this himself.

He shrugged the memory off.

Went to pour himself a drink instead.

 

*

 

Nicky woke to his phone ringing. He'd fallen asleep at some point, though after a whole day of sickly drunken haze it had been a bit of a blessing, collapsing into it, into dreams that sucked him down and passed the time, just for a little while.

The hangover was blinding. He reached for his phone. Accepted the call without looking at it, eyes still bleary and slitted against the brightness of his living room light.

“Yeah?”

“Nicky?” Nicky froze. Licked his lips, trying to figure out what to say. He could hear Mark breathing.

“Mark?”

“I erm...” He cleared his throat. “No. Don't worry.” He hesitated. “Have a good life, yeah? It was nice to know you.”

The call cut out before Nicky could reply.

He sat staring at the phone for a long time.

 

*

 

“Bring it in.” Kian reached out his arms, and Mark sidled closer, felt Shane gather him up from the other side, all of them leaned in so close their foreheads were almost touching. “You ready?”

“No,” Shane laughed. Kian gave him a wry smirk that didn't comfort the storm raging in Mark's stomach. “I want to say a prayer, but honestly I've been praying for weeks and I don't think it's changed anything.” He breathed out slowly. “Sligo lads, yeah?”

“Sligo lads,” Mark agreed. They both looked at him. He was sure, suddenly, that they had this. It was no different from any other concert. He'd do what he had to do. “I'm sorry, for the last couple months. I've been off, I know I have. I'll do better.” This probably wasn't the time to be talking about it, with the stomping and applause growing above them, but after the night before, after hearing Nicky's voice again and knowing, in an instant, that it was time to make a decision, he'd been resolved. This was where he was meant to be. With his friends. Having each other's backs, the way they always had.

This was in front of him. Easier, in a way. He wasn't Bryan. He could do this.

“Course not. You're fine. Don't worry.” Kian's face crumpled slightly. “Fuck me, I'm getting emotional. I fucking love both of you.” The opening beat started to thud. He heard somebody call for places. “Come on, then.”

They let go. Mark followed.

 

*

 

“How'd it go?”

“Well, I think.” Georgina breathed out slowly. She'd just come from a meeting, the most recent round of interviews for her potential promotion. She'd been sending letters for weeks, gathering references from people in the department. Nicky couldn't see how she wouldn't get it. She was too good at her job. “They're looking at positions that have opened up, so I'm not sure where I'll get placed, but it all sounded really positive. I'm trying not to get my hopes up.”

“You'll be grand.” He squeezed her shoulder. He wasn't working that day, neither of them were, had just come for moral support when she'd asked him. “Proud of you.”

“Cheers.” She bit her lip. “Want to go get a coffee? I'm all jittery.”

“What, to calm your nerves?” Nicky joked. She glared back. “They'll have to give me a new partner, if you get it. I'm looking forward to that.”

“Fuck off.” She shoved him, then pulled him into a hug, all in one move. Nicky grinned into her shoulder. “Oh fuck. This is mental.” He patted her gently on the back before letting go. Despite his teasing he was going to miss the hell out of her. They'd still be friends, of course, but it wasn't the same as spending every day with someone, gossiping while they got on with the job. “There's a few places coming up soon, I heard. Why don't you go for one? You don't want to be a beat cop all your life, do you?”

“Hadn't thought about it.” It was a lie. He'd considered it a few times. It wasn't something he wanted to admit to himself, but he thought it was fear, a little bit, that kept him where he was. That he'd go for it and it'd turn out he wasn't good enough. That maybe, after trying everything else, this was all he could do.

“I'll give you a reference.”

“That sounds horrifying,” he joked. She stuck her tongue out, then began to walk, headed for the elevators. Nicky fell in beside her. “Maybe you're right,” he conceded. “I suppose I can't stay here forever. I could look at placement somewhere else, maybe.”

“Leave Dublin? You?” She laughed. It was his turn to stick his tongue out. She rolled her eyes. “I can't see it, you out in the country somewhere.”

“Not in the country. Just... change of scenery, maybe. Fresh start.” The thought made his heart ache, but it probably wasn't a terrible idea. The last year had been too surreal, had shifted his life in a way he didn't know how to put back. Maybe he needed a new outlook.

“Should I ask if you're running away?”

“From what?” She raised an eyebrow. “I'm not running away. There's nothing to run away from. People break up, and they get on with it.”

“Do they?”

“They do.” Mark certainly had. Nicky had heard him on the radio the night before, talking about how well the tour was going. He'd read a write-up of one of the Belfast gigs in the paper, and it had been glowing, talking about how they were maybe even better with three.

“Spoken to him?”

“Nope.” He supposed the phone-call didn't count. It hadn't felt like talking, had felt like a full stop. Maybe the full stop Nicky had needed. It was over. Time to move on. “There's a lad at the coffee shop who's been flirting with me. Thinking of asking him out.” He realised he was making the decision as he said it.

“Good for you.”

“Yeah.” The lift doors closed. She held his hand on the way down. “I'll do it today.”

“Congratulations.”

“Yeah.” They stepped out. He realised she was watching him, out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe we can even go out in public together, instead of sitting around the house all the time. We can go to dinner and stuff.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” There was a traitorous lump building in his throat. “I can meet his family.”

“Getting ahead of yourself?”

“Mm.” He looked away.

She sighed.

“Nicky...” She hesitated. Nicky blinked away angry tears. “You want a hug?”

He was about to say no, definitely not, of course he was fine. Instead he stopped walking, slumping slightly when arms wrapped around him. A kiss brushed his hair.

“Thanks,” he murmured. She nodded.

“Any time.” She waited until he was ready to let go, though she kept her arm around his shoulders as they began to walk again. “Want to skip the coffee and go see about something stronger?”

“It's two in the afternoon.”

“Considering our hours, I don't think it really matters, does it?” He shrugged. “Or we can just go back to mine, open a bottle of red wine, and I'll put on a movie.

“That sounds nice,” he admitted. She smiled triumphantly. “Not a romance, though.”

“Not a romance,” she agreed. “Definitely not.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

If this was what getting over it felt like, Mark supposed it wasn't so bad. The distraction was a benefit. On stage every night, travelling a lot of the time, rehearsing or sleeping the rest. There was barely a moment to breathe, let alone think, and that was a blessing as there was far too much not to think about.

It was easier, now that the distraction was gone. He'd been worried, but the shows were electric, the three of them creating a sound that felt startlingly their own, Kian getting his guitar out more often now and all of them playing off each other onstage, something more casual and altogether more fun.

The fans seemed to be loving it too. It was brilliant craic. Back to basics, the way it had been in school, he and his friends. Not worrying about all the other crap, just dealing with the job at hand.

It was easier without Nicky. Without Bryan. Not having to listen to people who wanted to change him, challenge him in a way that made him uncomfortable at the best of times, outright panicked the rest of the time. It was easier like this, with Simon and Louis and the rest of the professionals telling them what to do. They knew better, after all. All he needed was this. The music and the screams and feeling alive onstage, the thump of the bass and the glare of the lights drowning out everything else while other people dealt with the complicated stuff.

He felt reset. Like he'd glitched out the last year and was finally rebooting, getting back to the place he'd been before, where everything had been simple and he'd been happy.

He was happy.

He was fine.

 

*

 

Nicky was distracted from tidying by a furious knock on the door.

He looked up, startled, and put down the bin bag he was holding in one hand, full of old clothes he had finally decided to give to charity instead of pretending he was ever going to wear them again.

He didn't know exactly what had gotten into him. He'd gotten up in the morning, intending to have a sleepy day in, and suddenly he'd been opening drawers, dumping everything out. He'd gone through the kitchen already, and the bathroom. Everything was going. Half-melted candles, old bottles of aftershave he'd almost finished and not thrown away, three frayed wallets he'd replaced and kept for reasons unknown, all in the rubbish.

It felt almost feverish. Necessary. Not enough. Like he could clear out everything but the carpet and the light fittings and there'd still be too much in here, cluttering up his life.

He pulled open the door, sure he was a mess, in an old t-shirt, dust in his hair.

“Hey.” He looked at Georgina in confusion. She was fidgeting in his doorway, an enormous grin on her face. “Er...”

“I got it!” She clasped both hands to her chest. “They're making me sergeant!

“Holy...” He pulled the door open enough for her to launch through and into a hug. “I'm so proud of you!” he exclamed. She was giggling. “When did you find out?”

“Ten minutes ago! I was driving and they called and...” He kissed her cheek, felt it flushed. “I'm moving to Tralee! Going to be heading up the station there!”

“Tralee...” Nicky felt his stomach sink. She was looking at him expectantly. “When do you go?”

“Three weeks. Gotta find a place, sort my lease, all the rest of it, and then... yeah. I'm off.” She must have seen Nicky's face, because she frowned. “You're upset.”

“No. Just...” He gathered her in again. “I'm really happy for you, babe. Congrulations.” She nodded into his shoulder. “Just gonna cost me a fortune having to visit you all the time.

“I'll miss you too.” He smiled. “Love you, Nico.”

“Love you.” He squeezed her tighter, suddenly not sure if he could let her go. His anchor. Even through all the mess with Mark he'd been able to count on her, knew she'd have his back, always give him the right advice. “Well, celebration, then. Gotta throw you a going away party.”

“Was thinking,” she agreed, letting go. Nicky released her grudgingly. “Sorry for barging in. Looks like you're busy.” She glanced around the flat. “You er... moving or something?”

“Spring cleaning.” It did look a bit sparse, come to think of it.

“I was just on my way to do groceries.” She looked casual, nice. Jeans and a cute top, a silver chain around her throat, hair tied back. “Want to come?”

“Gotta finish up here, but...” He took her hand. “Come over tonight, if you want? We can order pizza and watch a movie. Celebrate.”

“Can't. I'm having dinner with Ethan. Gonna tell him about the promotion.”

“You haven't told him yet?”

“I literally just found out. Had to tell you first.” She hugged him again, while he stood there, dumbfounded. “I'll ring you, yeah? We'll do a thing.”

“Definitely.” She let go, backed towards the door. “G?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm really gonna miss you.”

“Ditto.” She looked too excited to be sad. Nicky couldn't blame her.

The door closed.

Nicky slumped back to the bedroom, grabbing the bin bag on the way.

 

*

 

It was dark.

Mark turned, trying to see. Not sure if this was a room or outside, the space lit to a smoky grey by a sliver of light around the bottom edge of the world, like the crack under a door. There were footsteps somewhere, coming closer, and when he looked again there were shadows approaching, blipping through the sliver of light and sending black flashes across his skin, darting and dangerous.

There was shrieking. Thumping. Something primal and looking for blood.

He realised he was crowded in. Couldn't see, not in the dark, but he could feel. See the shapes blotting out the light, pushing him down and in, empty fingers ghosting over his skin.

Couldn't breathe.

Couldn't see.

A hand grabbed his arm, and he shook it off.

_Mark?_

_Nicky?_ he called back. There was no reply. _Help..._

 _Why?_ it replied. _What did you ever do for me?_

 _I..._ He sobbed. _It's your job. You have to..._

 _Get yourself out_ , it said carelessly. Not Nicky's voice. Couldn't be, with that flippant laughter infecting it. _I'm off the clock._

_But..._

_You said you didn't want it_. There was a shrug in that voice. _So go on, do it yourself._

 _Nicky..._ He felt a hand close around his throat, cut off his air. When he looked up the face was someone he knew. Everyone he knew. Simon, Louis, Kian, Shane, Bryan, Nicky, his family, people from school, fans he saw at every signing that always cried when he said hello, people from the studio and the television stations and the girl who'd served him at the restaurant that evening and....

A bright flash broke up the darkness. A camera, he realised. It went off again, the soft click-whirrrrrr drowning out his cries for help.

 _Get up_ , Nicky sneered. _You ungrateful fucking prick. Just get up._

The hand on his throat tightened. The camera flashed again.

“Mark.”

He woke with a start, sure he was still in the dream for a moment. Dark, a sliver of neon running the edge of the world. Then he realised he was on the bus, that the lights were the run of LEDs up the walkway between the beds to stop them tripping in the night. He dragged in a breath, felt the world sway beneath him.

“Hey.” Shane, sat on the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

“I...” He sat up, heart still pounding. He realised Kian was peering over the edge of the bunk above, sleepy but concerned, hair flopping down where he was hung a little upside down. He yawned. Mark couldn't stop shaking.

“You have a nightmare?” Shane asked. “You were rolling around like crazy. I thought you were going to fall off the bed.” He laughed gently, though there was worry in it. Mark ran a hand over his face, trying to get his bearings.

“Must have been. I don't...” He did. A hand on his throat, Nicky turning away. Leaving him.

Which was ridiculous. Nicky wasn't the one who'd left.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you. I'll...” He went to lay back down, saw Shane and Kian exchange glances. “I'm fine, lads. It was just a bad dream.” He breathed out, trying to focus. “I'm fine.”

“Okay, well...” Shane stood up, headed across the aisle to his own bed. He climbed in, though he saw Shane and Kian look at each other again. It didn't make him feel any better. “Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

Mark rolled to face the wall. Sleep didn't come as quickly as he pretended it did, and later, eyes closed and forcing his breathing steady, he heard Shane and Kian whisper in the dark.

“That's the third time this week,” Kian murmured. “Should we...”

“He's not Bryan,” Shane interrupted. Kian sighed.

There was nothing more said, after that.

When the sun rose he was still away, shivering under the blankets, thoughts tumbling over each other so fast he couldn't tell one from the other.

 

*

 

Nicky leaned out the car window as Georgina came bouncing down the steps, waving. She looked beautiful. Hair out and a little black dress, the strappy heels making her look about two feet taller than usual.

“Hi!” She slid into the car. Nicky hugged her, then let go so she could lean forward to give directions to the driver.

“Where's your fella?”

“He's meeting us at the bar.” Her seatbelt clicked into place. “Said he'd gotten caught up with work. I think he's just scared of being in a room full of coppers.”

“Wait until he sees half of them on the dancefloor. He'll be terrified.”

“Exactly,” she snorted. “You look nice.”

“Thanks. It's new.” He'd bought new clothes the week before, after realising he'd thrown out far too many of his old ones and actually didn't have that much left. It wasn't a bad thing. He'd felt far better after doing it, everything cleaned away so he could start again.

He'd thought about throwing away Mark's tracksuit, and then decided against it. It was probably worth more than he thought, some label he'd never heard of. He'd found a few things like that, supposed he could leave them on Mark's doorstep, but didn't know how to begin. Instead they'd gone into a box in the bottom of his cupboard, the door shut so he didn't have to look at it.

“I invited a boy from admin. Thought you'd get along.”

“Oh, really.” He rolled her eyes. She shrugged. “Let me guess, you found out he was gay and figured we'd be perfect for each other.” It happened a lot. Like all two people had to have in common was a shared liking for cock.

“No, I figured he was wearing a Leeds jumper and had a good sense of humour, you homophobic prat.”

“I'm homophobic?”

“You're the one assuming all gay people are the same,” she said smugly. Nicky stuck his tongue out. He wondered what the driver thought, but then the radio was turned on, so he didn't know how much he could actually hear. The song finished, another one started up. Two songs later they were almost at the club and going into the news “Ooh, I'm nervous now,” she admitted, as they rounded the corner and stopped in traffic.

“Why?”

“Dunno. Feels so final. Like I know I've got two shifts left. But this is my going away party. Because I'm going away.” She looked over at him. “You know?”

“Not first hand, but yeah.” The car lurched forward slightly. He patted her knee. “Don't worry. We'll get some vodka in you and you'll be right as rain.”

“You always know what's best for me,” she retorted.

_...Westlife's Turnaround tour, coming to The Point in four weeks! Tickets are already sold out, but if you missed out call in now and tell us your favourite Westlife song for a chance to win..._

“Could you change the station please?” Georgina interrupted. The cabbie dutifully did as asked. Nicky looked gratefully at her.

“I'm okay.”

“Sure you are.” They pulled up in front of the bar. “Come on, then. Vodka.”

Nicky sighed and climbed out.

 

*

 

It was halfway into sound-check that Mark realised one of the crew was flirting with him.

He didn't know the guy very well. New, part of the lighting crew. They didn't see them very often, usually were all set up and wherever they needed to be by the time the three of them got to the venue, though tonight they'd arrived a little early, were having something to eat in the private canteen when Mark realised someone was looking at him from across the room.

It was a younger guy. Cute, with arms lined with muscles from dragging around equipment, muscles stuffed into a black t-shirt and skinny jeans.

He got a smile.

Mark smiled awkwardly back.

“Who's that?” Kian asked. Mark shrugged, looking hurriedly away. They were in the back corner, separated a little in the large room from the rest of the crew,.

“Dunno. Being polite.”

“Oh.” He got a funny look. “Well... why don't you go talk to him then?”

“Why?”

“Just... polite. Like you said.” Kian was blushing slightly, Mark realised. “You know.”

“Do I?”

“Dunno,” Kian mumbled into his beans. Shane was looking between the two of them. Mark felt suddenly exposed, wasn't sure what was going on, except Kian and Shane had been having too many private conversations lately. “Was talking to Louis the other day.” Mark shrugged. That wasn't a surprise. Kian was always talking to Louis about something or other. Kian lowered his voice. “He reckons we should do a covers album next.”

“No,” Shane said. Mark felt himself sink. “Really?”

“Yeah. Well...” Kian sighed. “He was saying rat pack songs, maybe. I told him I'd have to talk to you two about it.” He leaned his cheek in his hand. “I dunno, lads.”

“What, if you want to do it or not?”

“No, if it's...” He bit his lip. “Don't get me wrong, I'm still pissed off that Bryan quit, but like... maybe he had the right idea, in a way. It's been amazing touring with you. Like, really, I can't say how much, but what's the point if we're going back in to do the same shit that pissed us all off before? Bryan quit, so instead of taking it as a hint that maybe things aren't working they're using it as an excuse to shove the same old shit down our throats.”

“You don't think things are working?” Shane asked. “Since when?”

“I dunno. Not that things aren't working, but...” Kian put down his fork. “I want to keep doing this as long as I can. Bryan couldn't commit, and that was his decision. But I want to commit. I just can't commit to something I don't believe in.”

“I know what you mean.” Shane poked at his peas. “So what, you just want to say no?”

“No, I want to take charge for once.” He looked at Mark. “What about you? Are you happy?”

“Yeah. Course,” Mark said quickly. Shane raised an eyebrow. “I'd never let you lads down. You know I wouldn't.”

“You're not sleeping,” Shane said softly. “You look like you want to pass out half the time, and the rest of the time you look like you want to cry.” Mark opened his mouth to protest. “If anything we're letting you down. I don't want you thinking you've got to hold it together for us.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I think you do.” Shane's gaze darted to Kian, who nodded. “You and Bryan... I know you told him stuff you didn't tell us. That's fine. You were close. But don't think you have to hide anything from us. Honestly.”

“It wouldn't change anything if I told you,” Mark admitted.

“You say his name in your sleep,” Kian said. Mark felt his heart stop. “Marky...”

“Who's name?” He flinched away as Shane's hand covered his. “It's just nightmares. I'm overtired or something. I can't help...” He stood, chair clattering backwards too hard. People looked up. A hundred eyes on him. He couldn't swallow. Couldn't breathe. “I... I've gotta go get ready for the gig, okay? I have to...”

He stalked off without looking back.

 

*

 

It was getting late. Nicky didn't know where Georgina's boyfriend was, suspected she didn't know either, from the fretful way she kept looking at her watch.

“Maybe he's stuck in traffic?”

“What traffic?” She reached for her phone, checked it. No reply to the text she'd sent earlier. “He said he'd come.” Nicky shrugged. They seemed to be getting quite serious, now. Had already agreed to do the long distance thing for a while until he could square things away and go over to join her in Tralee.

She was just about to put her phone away when it rang. She lifted it to her ear, looking a little relieved, and pushed over towards the bathroom corridor so she could hear.

Nicky turned back to the table. They'd managed to secure one, though people kept coming and going, wondering off to dance or get drinks. Joey from Admin was a few seats down, so Nicky involved himself in gossip about people at the station. Georgina was right, he was a nice lad, cute too. Nicky had a feeling they'd probably be taking each other home, all things going well, though he doubted either of them were too attached. They'd chatted a bit, had a laugh, and flirted over a couple of pints. It wasn't a terrible way to spend an evening.

It was fifteen minutes at least before he realised she hadn't come back. He excused himself, then stood, headed for the bathrooms.

She stepped out as he rounded the corner, cheeks wet and mascara runny.

He didn't need to ask.

“He dumped me,” she said. Nicky bit his lip. “Said um...” her voice cracked. “Said he wasn't ready for a long distance relationship, that maybe it was just better if we...” She covered her face, sobbing. Nicky gathered her up.

They didn't say goodbye.

Nicky gave the driver directions, his arm around her while she leaned into his shoulder.

 

*

 

Mark locked himself in his room, once the show was over and they were back at the hotel. The others tried to talk to him, but he didn't want to hear it, was too busy trying to hear himself over the roar in his head.

He was dialing without thinking.

“Hello?”

“Did you tell them?”

“What?” Bryan sounded half-asleep. “Mate, it's midnight. What are you...”

“Did you tell Shane and Kian about me?”

“Course not.” He yawned. “What's going on? You sound like you're having an aneurism.” Mark pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to hold back the thudding. “I didn't tell them anything. Why?”

“They said...” He wasn't sure what they'd said, exactly, just knew he had to blame someone, and it was easier than blaming himself. “I don't know. I think they know.”

“So?”

“But...”

“Mark, just...” Bryan sighed. “You know what, fuck it, I'm going to be harsh. You ready?” Mark couldn't reply, didn't know what to say. “This isn't my problem. Frankly, it isn't anyone's problem, because it isn't a problem. You build this absolute bullshit up in your head, and at the end of the day it's nobody's fucking business but yours.”

“But...”

“No. You fucking go on and on about how Nicky makes shit feel better, but you're still acting like you're dying because somebody might find out you want to get bummed by a boy who was trying to help, and it didn't get any of us anywhere, and do you know why?”

“Bryan...”

“Shut up. It's because you don't _want_ help. Everybody's willing to help, if you ask. Louis' a cunt, but he would have helped you with those pictures if you hadn't been so stubborn. Shane and Kian would have helped you sneak him into hotels if you'd wanted, and we all would have fucking stood beside you if you'd wanted to go public. He could have come to dinner and met your parents, who probably would have really liked him because he's a nice lad and he loved the hell out of you, even though you treated him as second place to everything else in your life. You don't want help, you just want people to say what you want to hear.”

“I...” He sat down heavily on the bed. “It's not like that. I'm trying to protect...”

“Yourself,” Bryan finished. “Life's not perfect. It's not going to _be_ perfect, but shit things should at least happen while you're getting on with the rest of it, because if you're too busy hiding from the good stuff all you'll have is shit.”

“What do you know?” Mark shot back. “You fucking _quit_. You gave up.”

“Not on the things that mattered, I didn't,” Bryan said. His voice was angrily quiet, all of a sudden. “What did you give up?”

There was a clunk. He'd been hung up on.

Mark flopped back on the bed, hands over his face.

 

*

 

“I'm going to be really sick in the morning.”

“Yeah, probably,” Nicky teased. Georgina closed her eyes. She'd washed her makeup off, and probably a good thing, because it had been half down her face when they'd banged into her apartment. Nicky had opened a bottle of red while she'd been in the shower, and when she'd come out, eyes red, they'd slumped down together to drink it, Nicky's fingers stroking through her hair.

The second one had gone down well too. The third had been half empty on the kitchen counter when she'd announced she was going to sleep and stumbled into the bedroom. Nicky had followed, laying down beside her when she'd pulled the duvet back.

“You're a mess, love.” He kissed her eyelids gently, felt her shiver.

“Mm.” Her arms wound around his waist. He kissed her forehead as well, felt her sigh gently. “What a prick.”

“We're up to calling him names already?”

“Gotta do it fast, I'm leaving in a week.” She laughed bitterly. “Can't show up at the new station with my mascara running.”

“Bit of an entrance.” He pulled her in tighter.

“Marriage of convenience is back on the table.”

“Brilliant,” he chuckled. “We're doing well for ourselves, aren't we?”

“You were in with Joey.”

“Better company here.” When he looked down he realised her eyes were open, looking up at him, mouth trembling. “Better looking, too.”

“Fuck off.”

“Not joking,” he pointed out. “You've always been beautiful, babe.” She snorted. “If I was going to stick with lasses, it would've been you.”

“I'm not sure that's a compliment.” She sighed. “Think that's the trouble. None of them are you. I mean, I know you were checking out the waiter half the time, but I was still mad for you. Still are, a bit.”

“Ditto.” He pecked her nose, then again. Wasn't sure when she tilted her head, but the kiss was slow, unhurried. Wet and tasting of salty tears. It felt comfortable. Like something he'd practiced so well it didn't matter that he hadn't done it in years.

A hiccuping moan gulped between them. He swallowed it, tilting in.

“Oh,” she breathed. He blinked. Realised his hand was on her arse.

“Still gay,” he said. She shrugged.

“Figured.” She breathed out slowly. “Yeah.” He realised he was hard. Didn't think it was because of her exactly, though maybe it was, in a way. Because he'd always been able to do this, with her, even when he'd been so confused he didn't know which way was up. “Wanna make out? I won't tell if you don't.”

Nicky snorted, and rolled in.

 


	22. Chapter 22

When Nicky woke he was naked in an empty bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. He could hear the television, from the other room, and it took him a moment to realise whose house he was in, though the pink robe he pulled off the back of the door was definitely a hint.

Georgina was sat on the sofa when he staggered out, a coffee in her hands, dressed in a baggy shirt and cotton pyjama shorts. Nicky sank down carefully beside her.

“Nice robe.”

“Cheers. It brings out my eyes.” He knotted the belt, saw her smirk. “We had sex, didn't we?”

“I think that's what they call it, yeah.” She tilted her head, turning to look at him. He stared helplessly back. “You okay?”

“Was going to ask you that.” She shrugged. “I'm okay. I don't really...” He pinched his forehead. Typical red wine hangover, that horrible queasy dried-out feeling. “Was I okay, at least?”

“You were lovely,” she assured him. He nodded silently. “I know it didn't mean anything, Nico. Don't start to agonise. I know how you get.”

“I...” He went to protest, then closed his mouth. She rolled her eyes. “I'm sorry about Ethan.”

“Thanks. Me too.” She breathed out slowly. “Hurts like crazy. This heartbreak thing can officially go jump. I've got too much to do.” He reached out an arm, let her lean into it. “I'm really sad. You know?” Nicky nodded. He did.

“Want me to stay?”

“That'd be really nice.” She took a sip of her coffee. “At least you'll be shot of me soon.”

“I'll never be shot of you.” He stroked honey-coloured hair back from her temple, saw what was almost a smile. “I'll make you breakfast, and we'll watch a movie or something.”

“No romances,” she said quickly. Nicky laughed.

“Definitely no romances,” he agreed.

 

*

 

The darkness was thick. Mark felt fingernails scrape down his arm, rake at his ankle. Dig into his throat from behind, something hissing in his ear.

He fell. Suffocated and curled into a ball. Waiting for...

Nicky wasn't coming. Nobody was coming.

He screamed. Heard the things on his back scream back, hysterical laughter.

No.

He rolled. Angry, suddenly. Pissed off and blind and fucking _done_ with this shit. With letting them rake and feeling himself bleed and being fucking _helpless_ on the ground in the dark and just trying to protect himself. Not fighting back. Not...

There was a howl when he struck out, felt his fist connect with something like cold jelly, soft and giving around his fist. Shrieked in its face as fingernails loosened, talons uncurling and popping free.

He tried to run. Felt his legs cycle uselessly in thin air. Realised it was pointless.

Stopped. Turned. Stood his ground.

Nobody there.

He opened his eyes.

 

*

 

His new partner was decent enough. Nicky supposed they were friendly, a few shifts in, though he wasn't sure they had much in common. New lad just out of training, first run at doing the big job and thinking he was hard, though he was enthusiastic enough, despite a few stupid questions and being called Skinner, because apparently Peter was too uncool a name.

It wasn't the same without Georgina here.

Nicky paused on the street corner they always stopped to get coffee at, gesturing at the convenience store. It was odd, but without her here the job was almost boring. The same things, over and over again, teaching some young kid who barely knew a baton from a bowler hat. There was a staleness. Something empty that made him wonder why he was doing it at all. Why he didn't want more. Why he'd decided he wasn't worth more than what he was settling for.

The Sergeant was good about it, when Nicky went to speak to him. Said he was honestly surprised Nicky had never asked before, considering all the good work he'd put in. It was a feeling he hadn't expected to have, a rush of pride that he was apparently reliable, professional, that the higher-ups absolutely agreed that he had potential, if he wanted to look into moving up the ladder, training for more responsibility.

He left feeling better about himself than he had in ages. Called Georgina to tell her. She laughed and said she was wondering how long it would take him.

He wanted to call Mark, suddenly. Tell him that he'd been right, after all, about being proud of him.

It was a silly thought. Almost three months since they'd seen each other, more or less gotten over the whole thing, but there was still that pang, the one that missed Mark's smile and the way he'd look sometimes, like Nicky was everything in the world.

He didn't need Mark. Of course he didn't. He could do all of this on his own.

 

*

 

“You're up late.”

“Yeah.” Mark looked out at the road, rolling away beneath the bus, the trees blinking past in flashes that disappeared into the night. The moon was bright, blanketing the countryside while they wound their way South. They'd left Manchester right after the concert, had to be in London for the next gig the following night.

Kian smiled, leaned around the top of the stairs.

“Couldn't sleep?”

“Just not tired yet.” He'd been sleeping okay all week, actually, since the conversation with Bryan. Maybe it had been harsh, but there had been something calming about it, about the way Bryan had laid it all out in front of him like that. Maybe he didn't agree with everything, but Bryan was right. He was his own worst enemy.

He'd asked Louis the next day if he could talk to someone. If there was someone they could bring in, maybe, and the day after he'd been introduced to a very nice middle-aged woman who'd shaken his hand and asked if they wanted to sit down for a bit of a chat.

He hadn't told the others. Didn't know how much Louis had paid her, but they'd spoken all that week while they'd been in Manchester, sat in his hotel room while he'd slowly talked about everything that had been going on in two hour increments. Started with the scene at the airport, then the nightmares. By the time they'd been about to head to the last Manchester show he was telling her about Nicky, and how they'd ended it, while she'd sat and asked him questions that hadn't felt so scary, in the end.

“Is Shane awake?”

“Think so.”

“Okay.” Mark exhaled slowly, feeling brave and terrified at the same time. “Can you grab him, please? I want to talk about something.”

“Sure. Yeah.” Kian ducked back down. A few minutes later they were sinking onto the couches in the sitting area, both of them looking expectant.

Mark took a deep breath, curling his legs up on the sofa for protection.

 

*

 

Nicky was nodding off when he got a text. It was late, just after three in the morning, his shift over and the television on while he wound down.

He reached for his phone.

 _I'm sorry_.

He blinked, felt a lump well up in his throat. Was about to reply when another one came through a moment later.

_Can I call you?_

Nicky said yes. Of course he could. The phone rang just after he pressed send.

“Hey.” Nicky felt himself slump. A little nervous, soft and tired in a way that made Nicky ache. “You can tell me to fuck off. I wouldn't blame you.” Nicky's laugh cracked. He heard Mark snort on the other end. “Erm. So what's been going on with you?”

“That's all you've got to say?”

“No.” Mark sighed. Nicky held his breath. “So, I did a shitty thing. I got scared and...” He huffed. “I just told Shane and Kian I'm gay.” Nicky blinked, not sure what to say to that. “They took it really well, actually. Apparently they'd already figured out it.” He giggled. It sounded almost hysterical. “I've been seeing someone. A um... a therapist.” Nicky could hear him breathing, wanted to ask questions, wasn't sure which one to start with. “You were right. I needed to deal with some stuff.”

“Can I say I told you so?”

“As much as you like.” There was a long silence. Not awkward, just hesitantly companionable. “Anyway, we're in town next week and I wanted to see if we could meet up. For lunch, maybe.”

“Lunch?”

“Yeah. I mean, not an agenda thing, I just kind of... I'm not expecting to be taken back or anything like that. I just want to say sorry. In person. Try to explain. See how you've been, as well? I've missed you.”

“I've missed you too,” Nicky murmured.

“Are you crying?”

“No.” He heard his own voice crack. “Fuck off. Anyway, you've left your bloody tracksuit here. And your Playstation.”

“Did you delete my save files?”

“Haven't decided yet.” He heard Mark laugh on the other end. “Lunch. Okay. Mine or yours?”

“Actually, there's this really nice place a few blocks from mine. Does amazing bagels. I always kind of wanted to take you there, but...” He trailed off. “Anyway. We could meet at mine and talk, and then go there after? On me.”

“Bagels. Sure.” Nicky wished he wasn't smiling. He wanted to be angry. Was angry. “Okay.” He hesitated, then figured what the hell. “You've got a fuckload of apologising to do, Feehily.”

“I know.” He hesitated. “So erm... how was your day?”

 

*

 

“How did it go?”

“We're going to have lunch.” Mark sat down. Shane was grinning at him from the bunk opposite him. Kian shifted above him, and when he looked up there was blonde hair dangling down. “Thanks, lads.”

“Nothing a good apology won't help,” Shane commented. “Best thing for it. I apologise for things every five minutes with Gillian.”

“You should get an advice column,” Kian laughed. “No, I'm glad for you Marky. He seems a good sort. I hope it works out.”

“Me too.” Mark breathed out. “Even if it doesn't... thanks.” It felt funny talking about it, had done while he'd been telling them. They'd just hugged him, like it wasn't even a big deal. Kian had made a really crass joke, Shane had laughed, and that had been it. He hadn't known what else to say, until Kian had asked if he had a boyfriend and it had all come pouring out, the last year of insanity and bad decisions, of Nicky, and how much Mark loved him, and how he'd desperately cocked it up.

Kian had called him an idiot. Shane had handed him his phone.

Nicky's voice on the other end had made him want to cry.

The arrived in London early the next morning. The show that night was electric. The whole tour had been brilliant, but for the first night there was something else. Something huge that swelled in every note, that made him laugh louder at the filthier signs, made every step easy.

Afterwards, in his hotel room, he pulled out his laptop for the first time in months and listened to some of the music he'd written. It had been too painful, at the time, but now he was tapping his foot, humming lyrics he'd forgotten, finding new ones that had been trapped at the back of his mind, not allowed out. It was almost dawn when he stopped, and he slept the rest of the day. Slept easy, the bad dreams broken by soft ones until he woke blearily to pull out his laptop again, bent over it and scribbling down notes on the pad propped on his knee.

The next day, when Kian had finally woken up, he asked him to grab his guitar. Shane settled down next to them, nodding and pointing things out, and by the time they left for sound-check the three of them had most of a song worked out. By the time they left London they had three almost figured out, pieced together from everything Mark had been too unsure to show them, as well as what Kian and Shane had been working on.

“You thinking what I'm thinking?” Kian said, when they were settled on the plane. Mark looked up. Shane raised an eyebrow. “The rat pack can fuck off. Let's write this thing ourselves.”

“They won't let us,” Shane said. “Maybe one or two, but...”

“Fuck 'em,” Mark said. The others looked at him in surprise. “Fuck 'em,” he said again, sure this time. “This is ours. I'm sick of...” He nodded at Kian, who was starting to grin. “If they want to send us songs, fine, but if ours are better we're using ours.”

“You're both mental.” Shane was studying them, lips pursed like they did when he was turning something big over in his head. “Suppose I'm mental too. It's fucking catching.” He laughed. “Okay. Who wants to tell Louis and Simon?” They both looked at Kian, who rolled his eyes. “We all tell them, then. Kian gets to do the talking, though.”

“Thanks,” Kian drawled. Mark couldn't stop grinning. He suspected he'd come unhinged.

They were interrupted by the drinks trolley coming past. Mark sat back in his seat while Kian ordered a beer, though he could see Shane in the next seat up, shaking his head in disbelief.

It was mad.

He couldn't wait.

 

*

 

It had felt a long time since he'd stood on the steps of the imposing white and grey Victorian townhouse. Nicky hesitated, not sure if he wanted to ring the bell or not.

The door opened before he could get the chance.

They looked at each other.

“Hey,” Mark said. Nicky nodded, not sure what to say. He looked even more beautiful than Nicky remembered, hair a bit longer, swept up in the front, a little thinner, maybe, but in a way that made him look broader across the shoulders. His bottom lip was caught under his teeth, gnawing slowly while they both stood in silence.

There was something else, too. Something in the way he moved, something clear in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

“Come in?”

The place looked like it hadn't been lived in in months. Tidy, sheets draped over most of the furniture, though the sofa had been cleared. There was luggage still propped in the front hall. Nicky sat down at the kitchen island, settling onto a stool while Mark made tea.

He took a sip. Mark watched him nervously.

“Perfect. Thanks.” He put the mug down. “Fuck,” he breathed. Mark grimaced.

“Yeah.” He hesitated. “Does it sound really stupid if all I can think is how beautiful you look? Like I know I'm supposed to be explaining and it sounds like I'm sucking up or something, but...” He breathed out slowly, shudderingly. “I just... I missed you and you look amazing and I'm so sorry.”

“It's fine.” He took another sip of his tea, trying not let on that he'd been thinking the same thing. “Right.”

“Right.” Mark settled across from him. “How've you been?”

“How've I...” Nicky started to laugh, not able to help it. Mark was looking at him so earnestly. “I've been shit, thanks for asking. I got dumped over the phone, and then my best friend moved to Tralee, so it's all been basically a clusterfuck, not helped by the fact that my ex likes to pop up on the radio and TV every fucking five minutes.” He crossed his arms. “How've you been?”

“Shit.” Mark was laughing slightly too. “Dumped a boy I loved over the phone, then managed to have about five breakdowns until I realised that maybe I was the problem after all.” He leaned his chin in one hand, looking at Nicky carefully. “Georgina moved?”

“Got a promotion. Then her boyfriend dumped her.”

“Ouch.”

“We had sex before she left.”

“Who, you and the boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Ah.” Nicky didn't know why he'd brought it up, except he'd had nobody else to tell, and fuck they might as well be honest from the get go. He'd slept with someone who wasn't Mark. It was probably relevant.

Maybe he sort of wanted to hurt him as well. Just a bit. See jealousy flash in those intense blue eyes. He figured he was entitled to that, at least.

“How was that?”

“Fine. Still gay.” He reached for his mug again. “You sleep with anyone else?”

“No,” Mark snorted. Nicky nodded. “I didn't. Didn't want to, honestly. I just...” He smiled gently. “Sorry. It's really good to see you.” Nicky smiled hesitantly back, realising what it was that was different. He wasn't leading. Not comforting or explaining or trying to heave Mark up whatever hill they were climbing. For the first time, they felt even, meeting eye-to-eye instead of Mark reaching up for help. “We've decided to write the new album together. I've been writing again, and I thought...” He reached out, fingers touching hesitantly to Nicky's wrist for a moment before retreating. “I just wanted to say thanks.”

“Why?”

“Because they're all about you.” Mark was blushing now. Not in that old, cringing way, but in a way that was almost flushed with pride. “I want to record them. Want people to hear them. Maybe they're not perfect, but they're honest.”

“Oh.” Nicky wasn't going to cry. “Can I hear them?”

“Soon.” Mark reached out again, and this time Nicky met his touch, letting their hands link together for a moment. “So who's your partner, then, if Georgina's gone?”

“Some new kid, no fucking idea what he's doing.” Nicky rolled his eyes, heard a soft laugh. “I erm... I'm actually looking at advancing myself. Been talking to my sergeant and there's some positions opening soon, so I'm starting the process. Everything seems really positive.”

“That's brilliant! Congratulations!”

“Figured I couldn't stay where I was forever.” Mark nodded seriously. “You broke my heart. You know that, right?”

“I'm sorry.”

“I mean it. You have no idea...” He swallowed when he felt his voice break. “I was upset, and so angry, but I think the part that hurt the most was that when it came to it, I wasn't enough. And I know we weren't together that long, but I wasn't enough. You wouldn't let me help, when all I wanted to do was help.”

“You couldn't help,” Mark admitted. Nicky nodded. “I had to do this on my own. I would have dragged you down with me.”

“Yeah,” Nicky breathed. Mark leaned on the counter, and Nicky found himself leaning in slightly, magnetic to Mark's presence. He thought he was about to lean in further when Mark stood up again and turned to put his mug in the sink. Empty. Nicky realised his own was too. Picked it up and crossed around the island, putting it in the sink next to Mark's.

He looked up. Saw a nose less than an inch away from his. Their fingers threaded together.

“One kiss,” Nicky allowed. Mark snorted.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He tilted in. “Just one, okay? We can talk about more later.”

Mark nodded, and leaned in.

 


	23. Chapter 23

“Bloody Westlife fans.” Skinner scowled. Nicky snorted, looking around. The Point was crazy. Third night of the tour and half the division was on the job, directing traffic and keeping things under control.

“In what sense?”

“It's not cool, is it?” He didn't look impressed at all, was always complaining about the music in the car and putting on some ridiculous noise that Nicky probably could have done without, lots of swearing and nonsense. “At least they're too fucking poncy to start anything.”

“You haven't seen a mob of girls in full sprint,” Nicky chuckled.

“I heard about that. Shit went crazy at the airport?”

“Shit definitely went crazy.” He looked up, smiling when he saw a large banner draped down the outside of the building, Mark's face ten feet high and smiling down at the crowd. He'd seen it about a thousand times the last few nights while he'd been on patrol, on t-shirts and posters and tote-bags. “Ended up having to take one of the Westlife guys to the hospital. Got a couple of good bruises out of it myself.”

“That's mental.”

“Wasn't so bad, in the end.” He waved at one of the other lads, who gave him the thumbs up from across the parking lot. He could hear the support act from out here, though it was still crowded, people filing in through the gates. Mark had said he'd call him the next morning to say hi, once Nicky's shift was over and they'd both had some sleep.

They'd been talking a lot. Mostly on the phone, though they'd gone out for bagels like Mark had promised, after the kiss in the kitchen. Probably a good thing, being out in public, especially when all Nicky had wanted to do was leap on him and drag him into the bedroom, which he knew wasn't a good idea. Not yet. Promises and apologies were one thing, but action was another, and Nicky didn't know if he expected things to last this time around, no matter what hope said.

He liked talking to Mark. Liked hearing him laugh, more open than he ever had been, a bright, honest laugh that made Nicky buckle slightly. Mark was different. It wasn't a bad thing.

He could hear some of the concert from outside, drinking his coffee and waiting for it to finish so they could help direct people back out again. It sounded brilliant, Mark's voice clear even through stone and the wall of cheering and singing. He even caught Skinner humming along once or twice, and allowed himself a smirk at his expense.

The next day he was off. Mark had said to come to the concert properly that night, if he wanted, that he'd get one of the lads to let him in. He was mulling it over when there was a knock at the door.

It was a courier. Nicky signed for the envelope, trying to remember if he'd ordered something and forgotten about it. When he got back inside he tore it open, laughing when he realised.

Backstage pass. Be ready for your car by six.

He went to figure out what to wear, texting Georgina as he went.

 

*

 

“Is he here yet?”

“He's coming.” Kian reached out to bat Mark's fingernails away from his mouth. “Stop that. Bad habit.”

“I'm nervous.:

“He's coming,” Shane laughed. Mark shrugged, hand gravitating back to his mouth. Kian slapped it away again. Mark glared. They all looked up as a car came down the ramp, but it was just a few crew members. It was early, the VIP entranceway bustling with crew. The show didn't start for another few hours. They weren't even dressed yet, but Mark was suddenly sure Nicky wasn't coming. That he'd pushed too far, too soon. Maybe they weren't...

A long black car crested the top of the ramp. Mark held his breath. It parked in front of them, the door opening.

“Hey.” Nicky grinned. “Holy shit, this is fancy, right? I had a glass of champagne and a strawberries and everything.” He climbed out, letting Mark pull him into a hug. Looked gorgeous, too, in a leather jacket and narrow black trousers, a nice purple shirt buttoned underneath. “Am I supposed to tip him?” he whispered.

“Already sorted,” Mark whispered back. Nicky nodded gratefully while Shane closed the door and waved on the driver. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks back.” They pulled apart, and Mark realised Nicky was looking suddenly shy, Shane and Kian too, all four of them stood awkwardly beside the driveway.

“This is Nicky,” he said uselessly. Kian laughed.

“We've met. Hey.” He pulled Nicky into a hug. Shane did too, once he'd let go. Nicky beamed at both of them, then at Mark, who didn't quite know what to say now. “Inside?”

“Yeah.” Mark squeezed Nicky's shoulder. “Want a tour?”

 

*

 

Nicky hadn't expected the limo when he'd been waiting by the curb for his ride. One of the fancier taxis, maybe, but not the long black snake of a car that had rolled up in front of his apartment building and a driver who'd held the door open for him and asked if he wanted a glass of champagne.

He'd been worried he'd have to pay for it, but the card on the back-seat in Mark's handwriting said otherwise, to enjoy the ride and he'd see Nicky at the door. It all felt ridiculous.

Now he was walking down a corridor while Shane and Kian talked excitedly over each other, asking questions and going so far out of their way to make him feel welcome he half wondered which of them was supposed to be the celebrity.

The dressing room was beautiful. Nicky sat numbly on the sofa in the corner. Shane offered him an apple.

“No thanks,” he laughed. “Erm...” The door was closed. He looked up at Mark, who was looking just as baffled, though he did reach out and rest his hand on Nicky's shoulder, blushing slightly. “Hey.”

“Hey.” The kiss was chaste, a quick one on the cheek. He heard Kian say 'aw', and found himself blushing as well. “How's your backstage experience going?”

“Think I'm getting above and beyond.” Shane offered him a chocolate. Then a granola bar. Nicky accepted, mostly so Shane would stop nervously offering him things.

They went to dinner soon after. Nicky sat with them in the canteen, which was a little bit less intense than having them all stood over him in a dressing room, thought it was certainly weird. There were crew everywhere, people running around. Nobody talked to him, though he did notice a few strange looks, maybe people wondering why he got to sit at the table with the band. Mark's hand brushed his gently under the table.

Shane and Kian's girlfriends showed up not too long after that. Seemed nice lasses, though they hugged him, apparently not needing any explanation apart from 'this is Nicky'.

“You okay?” Mark asked, later, as he closed the dressing room door behind them. Alone for the first time since he'd arrived. Nicky let himself breathe, though he laughed when Mark gave him a sympathetic look.

“Are you?”

“Think so.” He closed the distance between them, arms wrapping him in a hug. “First hurdle jumped.”

“Yeah.” He didn't let go. Breathed in deep. Mark was doing the same, nuzzling into his ear. Nicky closed his eyes. “I love you,” Nicky murmured. A hand cupped to the back of his head, holding him in. “I want to make this work.”

“Me too.” Mark squeezed him, then stepped back. “I'm going to head up to Sligo tomorrow morning, see my parents while I've got a day off.” Nicky nodded. “I'm going to tell them.”

“Okay.” He didn't want to ask the next bit. Mark answered it anyway.

“I'm going to tell them I'm gay. Whether I tell them I'm in a relationship is up to you.”

“Oh.” Nicky bit his lip, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to throw up a little bit, because I'm panicking.” He grimaced. “I'm not going to lie to you, you know? I want to be with you, but my life's going to be mental. At least for the next few years. I won't be home a lot. I can't promise anything stable. On paper, I'm basically a disaster.”

“Isn't it every girl's dream? Rich and famous?” Nicky joked awkwardly. Mark shrugged.

“People are going to say shitty things. About us. About you. I can't guarantee it won't fuck up your life, your job. I don't have any guarantees. I can't promise to protect you from everything.”

“You're not really selling it.”

“No.” Mark sat down. Nicky sat beside him. “I'm not trying to.” Nicky purred as fingers caressed his cheek. “Fuck, I love you,” Mark whispered. “Up to you.”

“Up to me.” Nicky kissed him gently. “Can I ask something?” Mark shrugged. “No matter what I decide, you don't run away from me again. If we're going to do this, we have each other's back, because I can't feel like...” He closed his eyes for a moment, shuddering out a breath. “I didn't know if you were coming back. If we were done, or...” He looked up. “I won't ask you to put me first. I get that this is bigger than me. But...”

“We've got each other's back.” Nicky nodded.

“Yeah.” He smiled, leaning his cheek on one fist. “This is completely fucking mental.”

“Try doing it for five years.” Mark stood up. “I have to start getting ready. You can head out, if you want. Watch the show?”

“Okay.” Nicky stood as well. He was being dismissed. It was a bit sexy, watching Mark in his element, telling him how things were going to be. He liked this Mark. He was confident. For not the first time Nicky wondered what it would have been like, if he'd gotten in. If he'd have been like this, climbing into limos like it was second nature.

The kiss was sudden and hard. Nicky melted. Heard Mark make a soft moan that tingled on his mouth.

“Oh,” he giggled when they parted. “Um.”

“Go,” Mark urged.

Nicky went, stumbling slightly on his way out the door.

 

*

 

“How'd it go?”

“Dunno yet.” Mark adjusted his white jacket for the last time. The intro music was playing onstage, and he knew they'd just started the video on the big screens, all of them as pop-art comic book characters. He'd shown Nicky some of the concept stuff, before everything had happened, wondered if he'd like it now that it was done and thirty feet high on stage.

“He's really nice.” Shane smiled. “Definitely in love with you. Giving you eyes like crazy.”

“Oh.” Mark felt himself blush. “We... I mean, we talked about some stuff. It's different, you know? Like, Jodi's in the industry and Gillian's... you know. She's Gillian. But he has a job and...”

“I get it. God knows it was hard keeping her a secret while she was at college.”

“Yeah.” He looked at Shane. “I know before we were keeping it a secret because of me, but I have a feeling we're going to keep it secret. Because of him. He's going for a promotion. I don't want to mess that up.”

“You okay with that?”

“I think so.” He looked shyly at Shane and Kian, who had just jogged over, was still fixing his hat. “You like him, though? I'm not making a massive mistake?”

“It's your life.” Kian clapped him on the shoulder. “But right now we've got a job to do.” The lights fell outside. Mark headed for his spot, glancing over his shoulder as the other two disappeared into the curtains.

Then he was on his own, in the dark, the screaming huge and filling the room.

The lights went up.

Nicky waved at him from the front row.

Mark waved back, laughing.

 


End file.
